#captain america layouts

[ephemic]

"we're the avengers, man… 🤨" pt. 2/2

[hepburnicons]

captain america/avengers or drew starkey headers for this icon please

here you go <3

[shironezuninja]

I have to go without coffee on Friday…?😖😮‍💨

[crappy-writings]

The Run and Go

Natasha RomanoffxEx-Widow!Reader // Enemies to Lovers(Ish), Angst, Series (?)

*Images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators

Prompt: You, an ex-Red Room graduate turned mercenary, take up an assignment to retrieve some sensitive information from the Triskelion. You run into Natasha as you escape, much to your anger. You can’t seem to escape her after this first encounter as different circumstances force you to work together.

Summary: The Triskelion’s infiltration was going so well. That was until a certain redhead makes an appearance, leading to a long-awaited confrontation.

Trigger Warning: Poorly researched hacking concepts and lingo, bad spy/escape sequence, guns, google-translated Russian, swearing, canon-typical violence, implied/mentioned physical and emotional child abuse, the Red Room, bad fight scene, minor injury, let me know if I need to add more.

Word Count: 3,858

A/N: Did I watch Iron Man 2, Captain America and the Winter Soldier and Black Widow, analyzing Nat’s and other Widows’ fight styles? Yes, yes I did. Was I successful in writing an interesting fight scene in line with what I saw? Probably not, no, but here we are. 

Let me know if anything needs to be fixed!

Part 2 ->

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics

Breaking into the Triskelion had been almost effortless. It was easy to slip into its walls without raising suspicion, to become invisible once inside. No one expects a mouse to simply walk into the cat’s den. Then again, you were not a mouse, and the cat thought itself untouchable. 

There was no air of importance to your stride, no urgency in your steps. Your clothes showed little rank, most agents barely sparing you a first glance as you walked through the hallways alongside them, not realizing you were most definitely not one of them. Pride was always the downfall of man, you thought. 

The hallways and floors all seemed the same to you. The absence of windows was glaring in the lower levels, being only lit up by white, fluorescent lights, basking the stone walls in a similar hue. The floors were a familiar, polished, gray color, reflecting the light upwards. Despite the unoriginality of the corridors, you’re able to find the control room rather quickly, having already memorized the interior layout of the building before even dreaming of stepping inside. It was somewhat dark inside the control room, mainly lit up by the several rows of screen monitors and a few of the same fluorescent lights that decorated the hallways.

There was a singular agent in there when you stepped inside. He barely looks up from his screen, unbothered by your sudden intrusion. You pick a desk and sit down, beginning your search for the files your employer had asked for. 

There was a vulnerability in one of the system's firewalls, one you quickly exploited. It took you longer than you wanted to admit, but you were able to completely break through it, making it easier to find the necessary files. A cough interrupted your concentration, causing you to turn to look at the agent sharing the space with you. His eyes never strayed from his own monitor, raising a cup to his lips as he continued to type away on his keyboard. After confirming you were still in the clear, you returned to your work.

It took you a few extra minutes to find the ones you were looking for but were able to download all of them onto the pendrive given to you by your employer. Once you had everything, you deleted all the information you took from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers. You even deployed a nasty virus that will keep them occupied for a few days for good measure. 

There is a small part of you that feels satisfaction at having been able to take something from the organization as easily as you had. You stand nonchalantly from the seat you had claimed as yours, approaching the communal pot of coffee hidden away in one of the room’s corners. The singular agent hidden behind his monitor just barely acknowledges you, his eyes leaving his monitor for a few seconds before returning to his work. You serve yourself some coffee in a paper cup, taking a few sips before slipping out of the room.

The problem had never been getting in. No, it was about getting out.

The walk to the elevator was relatively short, the hallway empty as you made your way towards it. It was almost eerie, the way things were going, given that it was typically around this part where you would walk into some form of trouble. You knew that downloading that information was going to tip off some server moderators, adding an extra layer of difficulty to your escape. Even so, the invisibility you have managed to maintain is still your greatest weapon.

Two agents stepped out of the elevator once it had reached your floor. One of them acknowledged you with a singular nod while the other barely spared you a glance. 

You step into the now empty space, the computer screen showcasing your face, along with a fake alias and a serial ID number. The creation and uploading of the fake S.H.I.E.L.D. agent profile had taken you weeks to accomplish, but its completion was the key to slipping in and out of the building mostly undetected. Having some of the organization’s face-changing technology would have made the infiltration a lot easier, but that technology is too safely guarded for you to have been able to get your hands on it. 

The doors had not shut closed yet, waiting for you to state your destination. “Lobby,” a voice that is not your own rings out from your vocal cords. The voice moderator that you had nicked from one of your past jobs had come quite in handy, especially for this mission. The piece of technology was hidden away under the collar of your stolen uniform, its detection nearly impossible. 

“Confirmed,” the automated voice of the computer rang out into the enclosed space, and finally began its descent. Breathing was becoming an easier task as you were one step closer out the Triskelion’s door. 

The elevator stopped a few times as it continued to go down, letting agents in and out on different floors. Most of their trips were short, some engaging in small talk before exiting the confined space. 

“Controls,” an older man dressed in a blue suit commanded, followed by the computer’s robotic voice, “Confirmed.” He had a kind face, dark brown eyes aged with crow’s feet and his hair white and thinning.

“Working hard or hardly working?” the man asked, his tone light and jovial, as the elevator continued its descent. You sent him a friendly smile, adding a small chuckle for good measure. 

“Not sure yet,” you replied, not dropping the smile, “Every day is unpredictable in S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The man replied with a chuckle of his own, “That, it is.” The elevator opened into another level, allowing the man to step out. He sends you a friendly smile as he departs, leaving you alone in the confined space once more.

You reach the lobby shortly after. The space was wide, a glass canopy overhead, allowing the warm glow of sunlight to stream in. The walls were decorated with a mixture of off-white stone, dark tile and stained wood, the floor a dark gray that complemented the space nicely. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s emblem was showcased proudly in the very center of the room, reminding everyone who walked inside of where they stood.

The lobby was full of people, some dressed in nice, neutral-colored suits, while others were dressed in tactical gear. Security hung around the entrances and exits, eyes sharp as they overlooked the crowd. 

There was purpose in your stride now. The longer you took to get out, the larger the possibility of getting caught. It was only a matter of minutes before someone noticed the missing information that burned in your uniform pocket, if they did not know already. 

You made your way across the lobby unperceived. The sense of satisfaction from a successful mission had begun to bloom in your chest as you easily blended into the large group of agents that zipped in and out of the building. That was until you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, the sensation of a pair of eyes staring you down from somewhere behind you making you come to a stop.

Your eyes scanned the room methodically, until you spotted a set of familiar green eyes and fiery red hair, ones you thought you would never see again. There was a flicker of recognition in her features, but it lasted for less than a second, slipping on her perfectly crafted mask of indifference, her expression unreadable as neither of you break eye contact. A wave of burning hot emotion overcomes you, before you stamp it out. Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed. 

Neither one of you had looked away from each other, as if a silent conversation was being held between the both of you. You subtly raise your head, your eyes narrowed and daring. It was a silent challenge, and invitation to your long-awaited encounter. It was a dangerous game to play while in the confines of hundreds, if not thousands, of highly trained agents, especially when one of those agents was Natasha Romanoff, but it was one you would play, nonetheless. 

You’re the first one to break eye contact with her, quickly becoming invisible within the crowd of agents. A cat has spotted you and was about to give chase. 

It would almost be thrilling to be running from the Black Widow turned Avenger, were it not for the blazing resentment snaking its way through your chest. It had been years since you last saw her, her defection to the very organization you just stole from had left you filled with a sense of bitterness and betrayal. 

The rest of your journey towards the garage went uninterrupted, but you know she was somewhere nearby, following your moves closely as you weaved through the lower levels. Spotting the redhead had suddenly made you itch for a fight, adrenaline fueling your body. 

Your bike comes into view as you reach the final garage level. The vehicle was hidden away in a secluded part of the parking space, far away from the other cars. The keys jingled in your hand as you pulled them out of your uniform pocket. You would have closed the distance between you and your escape, except that you felt her ghost-like presence lurking from behind you, finally making herself known. 

With a singular deep breath, you stick your hand out to the side, showcasing your keys to her before tossing them forwards, the sound of metal clattering against the smooth asphalt a few feet from your motorcycle.

“I didn’t expect to ever see you again, Romanoff,” your modified voice echoed in the vastness of the garage. Your hand instinctively reaches for your concealed gun, pulling it out in one swift movement as you turn to face her.

“I would say the same to you,” she stood a few feet away from you, her stance paralleling yours, guns raised and aimed at each other’s heads. Her eyes had a hard edge to them as she stared you down, “Why are you here?”

“Just seeing the sights of Washington, D.C. There’re so many museums here, you know?” there is vexation in your tone despite your sarcastic words, “Plus, how could I skip out on admiring the Triskelion’s architecture? Bet the engineers had fun building it.”

The both of you had stepped closer to each other without realizing it, her firearm about a foot away from your own. She ignores your quip, instead choosing to make a go for your gun. You mirror her movements, both of you trading guns before aiming them at one another once more. 

Neither of you said anything as you continued to stare each other down, the tension thick enough to be cut by the edge of a knife. Her eyes were studying yours, searching for something and you’re not quite sure what it is. There was a subtle change in her stance shortly after as she dared you to make the first move. So, you did. You went for her gun again, this time flinging it across the empty garage, the piece of metal skidding across the asphalt. She does the same, the Red Room’s training being activated on pure instinct. 

The beginning of your fight was not a fight at all, though. You were both following a basic combat sequence of simple parries and blows taught to you in the confines of the Red Room. The drill was the one that was taught to the youngest of girls, set to provide them with the basics. It was more of a dance for the both of you, perfectly choreographed and in sync with the others' familiar response. It was child’s play.

For a brief moment, you felt like you were back in the Red Room, the both of you locked in the familiar dance as your handlers watched you engage in a sparring match. The parries and blows you sent each other’s way were predictable, neither of you having the heart to truly fight and hurt the other. Your punishments for your defiance would vary, the ones you remember most being obligated to practice the same ballet move until your feet bled. The other usual punishment was to be made to fight an older Widow, one that would not hesitate to hurt you, to teach you a lesson for holding back. Eventually, your sparring sessions no longer started with the predictable routine of parries and blows, replaced by hard tackles to the ground, bruising kicks and skin-breaking hits.

Old habits die hard, it seems.

Your mind snaps out of it as she grabs hold of your arm mid-swing before securing a hold over your shoulder, allowing her to throw you onto the ground. The wind is knocked out of your lungs, and it takes you a few seconds too long for you to recover. 

“What did you do?” She asks as she manages to hold you in place, her legs straddling your waist while her arms have you pinned down against the ground.

“That’s not your concern, dorogoy,” you smirk up at her as you smash your forehead against her mouth. The distraction allows you enough time to securely grab her by her forearms, your freed legs find her stomach, flipping her over you. She lands roughly a few inches over your own head, the force of the flip enough to leave her stunned for a few moments, allowing you to quickly get to your feet.

“I have to go,” the voice moderator that had been hidden under your collar was knocked loose, your voice sounding strange as you taunt her, “It was nice seeing you.”  You were scooping your bike’s keys from the ground before she pushed you into the vehicle, knocking you both onto the ground.

In hindsight, it was dumb of you to believe she would stay down. 

The back of your head hits against the floor, stars filling your vision for a few moments, your bike tangled under your feet. You feel her grab the fabric of your stolen trainee uniform, dragging you away from your bike and towards one of the garage's walls. 

You struggle against her, managing to break free from her hold. Once back on your feet, you send a few firm punches her way, and she is unable to dodge a few of them. 

You were sloppy in your attack though, as she gets a firm grasp on your arm once more. Her other hand gets a hold of your shoulder and pushes you back up against the building, slamming you against the wall once, twice, three times. A string of coughs escapes you, air not reaching your lungs. You feel the fight begin to leave your body and hate that she was able to incapacitate you. In a last-ditch effort, you press your hands against her face, forcefully pushing against her with all your might. This somewhat works, placing a bit more space between you, enough for you to raise your leg, and knee her in the stomach. This sends her back a few inches and you send another swift kick to the affected area. Your legs react before your mind does, trying to close the distance between you and your knocked over bike, the keys within your view on the ground.

You were still a few feet away when you felt a sharp and burning sting emanate from your lower back, your body locking up against your will and effectively sending you tumbling to the ground. She threw a fucking Widow Bite at you.

“Cheater!” you yell at her, your body completely unable to move. She catches up to you, one arm cradling her stomach, before grabbing you by the scruff of the stolen uniform and dragging you up against the nearest wall. Your body felt numb, every single one of your nerve endings having been lit on fire mere seconds ago.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, what the fuck are you doing here?” her tone is hard and almost dangerous, her eyes scanning over every single one of your features in search of any telltale signs of a lie. It was only now that you realized that she was bleeding from her slightly swollen lip, a trail of crimson running down her chin. There’s a small, sick sense of pride that settles within you as you watch the blood flow from the split lip you gave her. 

“Fuck you, Romanoff, I don’t owe you shit,” the familiar sparks of anger were building up inside your chest. 

“Answer the question,” her tone is even and low. It was not until now that you realized she had picked up one of the discarded firearms, the barrel of the gun being pointed directly at your head. Something within you was emboldened by this, leaning forwards as the tip of the gun presses lightly against your forehead.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” your eyes staring directly into hers in defiance.

“How are you so sure about that?” she asked through narrowed eyes, digging the barrel further into your skin, her finger hugging the trigger but not squeezing it. 

“Because you would have shot me the second you saw me if you truly wanted me dead,” you reply, and the words taste bitter in your mouth. There is a visceral hatred in the gaze you level at her, the teasing air that had coated your initial confrontation having completely dissolved. 

“Why are you so angry at me?”

The question had been so simple. It made you want to explode. 

“Did-did you seriously just ask me that? I have to tell you?” you almost choke on the acidity that coursed through your tongue as you spoke those words. A bitter laugh makes its way past your lips, your head shaking slightly as a sense of indignation floods your chest. 

“Tell me Natalia, did you think that everything would be magically solved the day you defected?” The burning sensation of unfiltered anger and overwhelming resentment are spilling out of you, and you do your best to push them away forcefully. Your mask cannot break. Your mask will not break.

Emotion is a weakness. Emotion is for children. Emotion gets you killed.

The words repeated over and over again in your head, a never-ending chant driven into you by your handlers. Emotion had always been the one thing that you struggled with in the program as a child, constantly making you hesitate and clouding your judgment. Your handlers recognized this weakness in you, and they worked you tirelessly, trying to stomp it out of you. Your struggle against emotion is what got you recycled four times before you finally graduated.

Natasha’s face gave away no indication of what she was thinking. Her features were schooled perfectly into a mask of indifference, and that made you all the more angry.

“I had to get out,” she defends herself; the gun being slightly lowered. 

“I don’t care,” you want to yell, you want to scream, but you don’t, “You leaving made The Red Room all the more difficult to survive.”

Something about what you just said made a crack in Natasha’s mask. It was nearly imperceivable, but you saw the twitch her brows made at your statement. 

“The Red Room doesn’t exist anymore. Dreykov is dead,” she states factually. Her tone was so confident, so sure, you almost believed her. But she was wrong. He may have gone into hiding, never showing his face, but his whispers still rang inside the halls of the Red Room, his fingers choking the life out of every Widow still stuck there. His presence was a stain that would never leave.

You can’t suppress the bitter laugh that escapes you, “Is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. told you?”

The numbing feeling that had spread throughout your body was beginning to wear off. There’s a small twitch in your leg, one that Natasha notices and she knows she is running out of time. 

“I was there, we rigged bombs up a five-story building,” Natasha recounts, her eyes taking a similar hard edge from earlier. 

“The Red Room still exists, Natasha,” you talk low and slowly, your tone was no longer defensive or angry. She needs to know she is wrong. “Dreykov isn’t dead.”

“It’s impossible, I killed him,” she restated adamantly. Her mask was slowly cracking, but you do not feel victorious about it. 

“He’s alive, Romanoff. I’m not fucking with you,” your tone was exasperated, “Why would I lie?”

“Why are you here?”

“Chert poberi,” the curse slips past your lips, your annoyance at the redhead radiating off of you, “I took a job, I’m a mercenary now, that’s all you need to know.” You finally push yourself off the ground, your legs stumbling slightly as the pins and needles continue to prickle under your skin. She allows you to stand, backing away from you with her gun still trained on your head. 

“Listen, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Dreykov is not dead, and the Red Room is still alive and well. You don’t need me to tell you what happens in there,” you shook your head gently as the familiar, bitter taste of your words coat your tongue. 

You made no effort to move away from her yet, despite desperately wanting to leave. Her gun was still trained on you, and you were beginning to doubt whether or not she would actually shoot you. A single wrong move could mean the difference between life and death, or worse, getting turned in. 

But she was no longer focused on you. Her mask had slipped off, and for the first time since you were children, you could read every emotion in her eyes. There was conflict there, torn between the lie she had convinced herself of and the reality of your words. There was wariness in her gaze, but there was something else too, something bigger.

It was guilt. 

She believes you.

You begin to move away from the wall she had you pinned against, your bike about ten feet away from you. It’s clear she has no intentions of stopping you, instead lowering her gun slowly, her eyes never leaving yours.

She… she was letting you go.

The gaze you send her is cautious and untrusting, but you continue to move away from her, nonetheless. She eventually breaks the eye contact you had maintained, her eyes dropping down to the ground, her breaths slow, heavy and unsteady. There is enough space between the both of you for you to run. You caution one last look at her, but she has not moved a muscle. 

“See you around, Romanoff,” Your tone is not victorious nor teasing, it’s dejected and almost sad.

With that, you run towards your bike, scooping your keys from the ground swiftly before driving away, leaving Natasha behind with her thoughts.

Part 2 ->

[userghouls]

“I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance. Alright, a week, next Saturday, at the Stork club. 8 o’clock on the dot, don't you dare be late. We'll have the band play something slow.”

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) - Dir. Joe Johnston

@lgbtqcreators creator bingo - [Layout & Typography]

[williamedwardparry]

May 24th, 1845: The Illustrated London News runs an informative celebratory article about the Franklin Expedition, which left Greenhithe dock on the 19th. They describe outward and inward features of the ships, which had been visited by reporters, and give an overview of the careers of the ships and of their commander, Sir John Franklin. (In the process they accidentally invert the layout of Fitzjames' cabin, misspell Crozier's and Des Voeux's surnames, and omit to mention Sir John's second marriage.) [Internet Archive link]

Transcription:

DEPARTURE OF THE "EREBUS" AND "TERROR" ON THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION.

A desert waste of waters lies before— Behind, the anxious hospitable shore, Which like a parent bird sees ye depart, Bold wingèd messengers of daring Art ! We know that sunshine always 'round your path Cannot attend ; that rain and tempest's wrath Will be your portion ; but our pray'r shall be You live their fury out right gallantly, And after years you have perchance to roam That science crown'd you safely seek your home ! W.

On Monday H. M. sloops Erebus and Terror left Greenhithe, on their attempt "to penetrate the icy fastnesses of the north, and to circumnavigate America." The fitting out of this expedition was, we believe, definitively arranged by the Admiralty in February last, since which period the requisite equipments have been made ; and, as they involve several novelties, we shall briefly detail them.

The Erebus and Terror, it will be recollected, were fitted out for the South Polar Expedition, in 1839—1843, under the command of Captain Sir James Ross. The Terror had previously visited the Arctic regions ; it being the vessel in which Captain (now Sir George) Back, in 1836, attempted, by "way of Wager River," to trace the northern boundary of the American Continent. This vessel passed up Hudson Strait in August, 1836, and left it on her way home in August, 1837, after encountering extraordinary perils among the ice, and a narrow escape from foundering : she was then compelled to return home in a leaky condition, with her stern-post shattered. This was the fifty-seventh Arctic Expedition from England, commencing with Cabot's voyage (temp. Henry VII.)—the first of the kind that was made from our country; and the Expedition which has just sailed is the fifty-eighth enterprise of its class.

The vessels were put in commission at Woolwich on Tuesday, March 4. The Expedition is under the command of Captain Sir John Franklin, Knight, K. C. H., who is appointed to the Erebus (the larger vessel), with Commander James Fitzjames, Lieutenant Henry T. D Le Vesconte; mate, Charles F. Des Voux [sic]; second master, H. F. Collins; clerk, G. F. Pinhorn; gunner, J. G. Robinson; boatswain, J. G. Terry ; carpenter, W. Weekes. Captain F. R. M. Crosier [sic] commands the Terror, with Lieutenant Edward Little, Lieutenant G. H. Hodgson ; carpenter, Thomas Honey.

The fitting out of the vessels has been superintended and minutely inspected by the Lords of the Admiralty, and other persons distinguished in Polar expeditions. The ships are provided wit hthe most approved Archimedean screw propellers; and in one of the trials in the Thames, the Terror made such excellent progress that she cast off her towing steamer, and proceeded down the river without any additional assistance whatever.

In their visit to Woolwich, the Lords of the Admiralty proceeded to the west-end of the dock yard, opposite the wharf-wall of which was stationed the Rattler steam-vessel, fitted with a screw propeller. Their Lordships witnessed the manner in which the screw was shipped and unshipped by tackle and chains suspended over the starboard side of the vessel, and then proceeded on board the Erebus to witness the manner in which the screw-propeller could be taken on deck and replaced in its proper position, by letting it down through a well formed in the stern of the vessel. The advantages of this mode of attaching and detaching the screw, are self-evident, and the principle is so simple and easy of accomplishment, that any vessel in her Majesty's navy may by its aid be fitted with a screw-propeller, the objection and difficulty of shipping and unshipping it on the outside being completely obviated. Their Lordships went below and witnessed the construction of the tubular boiler and steam-forming apparatus, which occupies but a very small space in the vessel, and by aid of a large pipe, about one foot in diameter, conveys hot water under the deck to warm the men's berths, and all parts of the vessel. The funnel of the furnace is near the side of the vessel under the rigging, and is only about nine feet high. The pipe for blowing off the steam is not three feet high above deck, and is near the centre and over the boiler. Several other ingenious contrivances have been adopted to render the whole as simple and perfect as possible. The decks of the Erebus and Terror are constructed on the diagonal principle, and about twenty feet on each side of the bows of the vessels have been cased with strong sheet iron. There is not any copper sheathing on either of the vessels, as no danger is to be apprehended from the attacks of shellfish or barnacles, the ice soon clearing them from incumbrances of that description.

The arrangements made for the comfort of the officers and crews are excellent. The quantity of stores taken on board is considerable, and consists of preserved provisions of various kinds, a large quantity of tea, and extra strong West Indian rum, 35 per cent. over proof. The consumption is thus provided for a prolonged expedition. Ten fine live oxen have also been shipped at the Woolwich Dockyard, on board the Barretto, Jun., hired transport ship ; she will accompany the discovery vessels to the edge of the ice, and these animals may then be killed, and their flesh preserved fresh for any length of time.

Each ship has been supplied with 200 tin cylinders for the purpose of holding papers which are to be thrown over board, with the statement of the longitude and other particulars worthy of record, written in six different languages, and the parties finding them are requested to forward the information to the Admiralty.

The compasses of the vessels have been adjusted by Captain Johnson, and the most perfect arrangements made for the peculiar service in which the vessels of the Arctic expedition are to be engaged.

We annex, also, a portrait of the gallant Commander of the Expedition, who has already taken a share in three Expeditions to the North. Sir John Franklin is a native of Spilsbury, in Lincolnshire, and was born in 1786. At the age of fourteen, he entered the Royal Navy, as midshipman, and was on board the Polyphemus when Nelson made his daring and resistless attack on the Danish line and batteries off Copenhagen, April 2, 1801. Franklin next sailed with Captain Flinders on his Voyage of Discovery on the coast of New Holland, in which he endured shipwreck. We pass over several other of Franklin's services, but must not omit that on board the Bellerophon, at the Battle of Trafalgar. His first Expedition to the North was as commander of the Trent, in company with Captain Buchan, in the Dorothea, in 1818 ; both vessels returning in the same year.

Lieutenant Franklin's next enterprise was in connection with an expedition of Lieutenant (now Sir W. E.) Parry ; a journey by land, which, in point of severe and protracted suffering, has not been surpassed in the annals of discovery ; he left England in May, 1820, and did not return till July, 1822. In February, 1825, he left Liverpool on a similar journey, and returned in September, 1827.

Captain Franklin was promoted to the rank of Commander in 1821, and to that of Post-Captain in 1822. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society, and has published the results of his several expeditions. He married in 1823, Miss Porden, the daughter of the architect, William Porden, Esq. : this lady unhappily died of consumption, in her 30th year, in 1825.

Our illustrations show the cabins of Captain Sir John Franklin, and Captain Fitzjames, in the Erebus. Sir John's cabin is in the stern of the vessel, and has double windows.

Among the external peculiarities of construction may be mentioned the following: —Round the outside of both vessels is a projection as far as the shrouds, inclosing the chains as a protection against the ice : it is flat on the surface, except at the bows, which form an angle. What is generally the figure head is a solid block of wood ; the vessel is double, and the bows are a mass of timber about eight feet thick. The stern is nearly perpendicular, for unshipping the rudder ; and an ice board is raised above the bulwarks, which projects over the side, to aid in steering clear of the ice. The screw-propeller is worked by an engine of 25 horse power, which formerly ran upon the Greenwich Railway.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Spooky Scary

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky tries to bond with you over your love of horror. It goes well, just...not how you'd expect.

Quick facts: Romance – Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Reader loves horror but is also scared of it, short and very fluffy

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 1226

A/N: Please enjoy this short piece of Halloween fluff. For regular readers: I am having a bit of A Time right now and I don’t know if I’ll be able to update in November. I’m a little bummed; I’m very proud of having been able to keep my monthly update schedule, but I’ll be traveling for Thanksgiving this year and I recently had a set back that hit pretty hard. So right now I’m thinking I’ll take November off, *maybe* December if I have to, but we’ll see when we see. Nothing is abandoned, I just need a minute, so enjoy what’s here in the meantime, and I will see you later <3

~

You are on a date (not a date) with your crush (best friend) right now (right now!) and you are terrified.

In more ways than just one.

~

“You’re okay with a haunted house?” you ask, looking over the advertising placard. The overall layout is very ‘graphic design is my passion,’ but some of the photos look…unsettlingly good.

“It won’t bother me,” Bucky says with absolute confidence. “Clint says I’ll be fine. Something about the makeup being good but overall it’s pretty cheesy.”

~

You don’t know what you did to Clint, but a few Robin Hood jokes are not enough to warrant this.

A gruesome Jack-in-the-box pops out, telegraphed from a hallway down, and yet you still jump. You’re glad you picked Bucky’s left arm to grab– hopefully it isn’t pressure sensitive.

“You all right?” Bucky chuckles, his breath in your ear. Despite the ‘blood’-stained, grimy hall, you relax a little, and even smile at him.

“Doing great,” you lie.

You have a reputation. A deserved one, admittedly– you love Halloween. Horror movies and the macabre are for year-round, in your opinion, but there’s something about the energy in October that just makes it even better. Your friends know this.

They don’t know that you’re actually kind of a scaredy-cat.

So, yeah, horror movies are great– on a screen, when you’re alone at home and no one can see you flinch, jump, or peek out between your fingers.

Or gasp and jump out of your skin when a shadow runs past your open side. You’re gripping Bucky’s arm hard enough your hands hurt, but it’s also kind of…thrilling, being able to be so close to him. Or rather, being forced to, even if only by your own nerves. You might need some help unlatching your fingers by the end of the night.

But Clint, via Bucky, was right– the scene work could be better, you think, but maybe that’s a good thing, because the actors are great, in costume and performance, with one of the most terrifying being a woman following alongside you, unnoticed until the perfect moment. But no one comes close to touching you, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re in the company of someone who could stare down Jason and punch out a Xenomorph, so you actually start enjoying yourself.

You’re so distracted by everything that you completely miss what’s going on with Bucky– until he gently bumps your side and you jump almost clear off the floor. He lets out a heavy sigh and jerks his head up at a sign. You have to squint a bit, but you make out one of the exits, and after a few seconds, it clicks. Bucky needs to leave.

Just like that, you snap into crisis management mode, like any time you’re out and Bucky has a bad moment. It doesn’t happen too often, but you know how to handle it: get to a safer spot, wait a minute for him to calm, and if he can’t, walk him home.

Easy peasy, but when you get out and to the side of the building, Bucky turns and looks…fine. Composed.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. He looks surprised by the question, and he looks you over. And then he goes quiet– thinking, you assume. It takes him a little longer, sometimes, to figure out how to speak his thoughts. Right now, he’s looking a little frustrated, and nothing’s coming out.

“It’s okay,” you say and squeeze his hand. Thankfully, he squeezes back. “Take your time. You wanna get dinner?”

He hesitates, nods, and leads the way– still firmly holding your hand.

~

“I’m sorry.”

You’re halfway through a bite of pizza when he speaks again. And maybe it’s a good thing your mouth is full, because it gives you time to think about what he might mean. Then you realize– he must be talking about the haunted house. In your rush to swallow and reassure him, you almost choke. He immediately leans over to hit your back, but you manage to get it all down, and you take a quick sip of your drink before you say, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I told you– if you ever need to leave a place, then we leave. Simple as that.”

He squints like he doesn’t understand. “You needed to leave,” he says, like he’s explaining to you. “You were scared.”

You duck your head. “It was a haunted house,” you say. Mumble. “The makeup was really good, and so were the actors.” You can feel him staring at you still, so you admit, “I’ve never been to a haunted house before.”

Bucky blinks. “But you love Halloween,” he says, almost accusingly.

“I do!” you say. “I love Halloween, and scary movies, and scary things…because they’re scary.”

It’s your first time admitting that out loud. You’re not ashamed, necessarily, but the way Bucky looks at you makes you wonder if you should be. “You like being scared?” he says.

“Sort of.” You push at your crust. “I know it’s not dignified, and you guys are really brave, and maybe you’ll think less of me, but–”

“It’s not that, and no I won’t, it’s just…” He rests his head in his hand and watches you. “I never knew that. That the stuff you like actually scares you.”

“It’s a safe kind of scared. Like roller coasters– scary, but I know I’ll be okay in the end.” You match his gaze. “But yeah, not exactly something to brag about, and I know you don’t like horror movies.”

“Yeah.” He ducks his head. “But I wanted to spend some time with you, and when I was asking for things you might like, it made sense that–” His head snaps up. “Wait, so you didn’t want to–”

“Stop.” You gently rap your knuckles on his forehead. He cracks a smile, ridiculous as the motion is to him, and you smile too. “I don’t really like people seeing me scared, so I don’t do anything that might make me jumpy in public,” you say. “I’m glad I got to try it though. It was kind of fun.”

“And I made you leave,” he huffs, the smile fading.

“I think it was sweet, that you were keeping an eye on me,” you say. “Though I was probably denting your arm by how hard I was squeezing.”

“I didn’t mind,” he mutters.

It’s your turn to blink. “…Really?” you ask. You like to think that maybe things have been a little flirty from time to time. Natasha certainly thinks so, and acts long-suffering about it, but you’ve never had anything concrete. Now, though, Bucky looks a little shy, and then he…nods.

“Well…” You creep your hand forward on the table, and when he takes it, you dare to hope this is different. “I have plenty of Halloween movies that aren’t horror. Ones that are just fun.”

“Yeah?” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. “Can I have you on my other arm?”

Your mouth curls into a smile. “You sure you want me clinging?”

He stands, and crooks his arm in your direction. “I can take it,” he says.

You stand, and slip your arm into his. You won’t pick anything that would upset Bucky, but it wouldn’t hurt to find something with at least one good jumpscare. Just for fun.

[coltrainbat]

Smut

Chris still have His costum from Captain america. What does that mean? Rollplay with chris.

Mint Condition

WARNINGS: SMUT MINORS DNI. 8k filth, roleplay, dirty talk, sex, P in v, edging.

You mulled through your large walk in for a Halloween costume, stray pieces you could put together to make an encrypted costume, all black and slutty you could do Charlie’s Angels… but there’s only 1 of you. You huffed as you swiped from hanger to hanger until…

“CHRISSSSSS!” You hollered

“Yeah honey.” He walked into the room stopping to a halt when he spotted you, devious look on your face as you held the costume in front of you.

“Hi Captain.” You purred

“Put it back.” He said sternly

“Why should I… look at this… it’s beautiful and omg mint condition.” You lifted one of the sleeves feeling the fabric.

“Because it’s the past.” He came towards you reaching for the costume but you turned your body away.

“Then why is it here?”

“Because one day I might hand it down to our son or if we go broke I can sell it.”

“I feel like I missed out on so much with this costume… can you wear it for me? Just once?”

He sighed, studying it with his eyes “It won’t fit anymore.” Chris tapped on the small sight of pudge on his stomach.

“Oh nonsense just try… please.”

“Fine.”

You squealed “ok let me go get a shield!”

You came back in the room with the glorified frisbee in your hand, but Chris didn’t realise your presence too busy in the mirror admiring himself.

“You need this.” You came up behind him, handing him the hard plastic prop.

“Thanks Peggy.” He smirked at you

“You’re welcome Captain… now turn around and let me look.”

You bit your lip as you ran your hands along the stretch cotton, the color hadn’t faded a day from not seeing the sun in 10 years.

“It’s tight on me.” Chris gritted his teeth

“Where?”

“The crotch.”

“Is that the suits problem or your problem?”

He looked down at you a sarcastic smile, as you ran your fingers slowly along the the silver star emblem and the intricate red and white panels.

“So how does it get on?”

“Like a onesie.” He grinned

“Ooooh.” You nodded, never fully understanding the layout of the suit.

“Oh it’s got a zipper.” Your eyes widened at the discovery.

“Yeah what if I needed to piss?”

“And the other thing…”

“You think I was spending my days fucking on set?”

“If I was around you would of.”

“That’s true baby.” He pulled you closer by your waist.

“So what do you think of Captain America.” He purred in your ear

“I think he’s gonna be in a lot of trouble.” Your hands on his bearded cheeks as he pulled you closer by your waist so you could feel the straining fabric against you.

“Hmmm why’s that?” His words mumbled by the kisses he was leaving on your exposed neck.

“Because he’s too busy fucking me to save the world.” You bit his ear lope eliciting a feral groan from Chris.

He threw the shield to the side, letting it land with a thud as he hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he placed you on the centre counter of your walk in.

“Well that’s your fault isn’t Ms Carter?” His eyes honed in on you, noticing the delight as he’s finally catched on to the dirty game of role play you’re playing.

“You know I always wondered…”

“Hmmm.” His tongue still exploring the skin exposed on your robe as you toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Whether the serum applied to your whole body…”

His hands moved to loosen the tie around your waist, letting your body be fully exposed beneath him.

“You wanna find out?” He quipped as his mouth made its way down your stomach.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please… Captain.”

Chris growled as his grabbed the back of your knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter and placing them on his shoulders.

“Tsk tsk no panties… not very professional.”

“They got too messy thinking of you.”

You pushed his head closer to your core as you finally felt the sweet feeling of his warm tongue flat on your sex. Chris wasted no time, creating a wet sloppy mess of your pussy as his tongue travelled up and down your weeping core and sensitive clit.

“Agh Chris more.” You dug your heels into his back but it was no restraint for the brooding man. Pulling out to stand over your flushed body.

“Call me that again and I’ll stop.” You swallowed weakly seeing a side of your man you’d never seen before.

“Yes Captain.”

“Good girl.” His hands went to the zipper pulling it down, letting his hard cock finally free from the tight fabric and pumping it slightly in his hand.

His pushed it slightly towards your centre, teasing it back and forth on your slit, letting your juices soak his head, pushing the tip in slightly but not even close to enough for any real pleasure.

You withered and moaned, making grabby motions towards his face.

“Stop moving or you’ll get nun’” His Boston accent slipping through.

Slowly and achingly he inserted himself into your begging core, anchoring himself with your fleshy thighs. With ever move in, he pull you closer aiming to get as deep as he can.

Finally you felt the cool zipper against your clit as you wrapped your feet together behind his back, desperate for him to lean over you and pound you viciously.

“You feel that honey?” You nodded, mind clouded by the feeling of his length pulsating inside of you.

Inching in and out, you savoured the feeling of Captain America fucking your sweet hole, keeping a steady pace. You mewled wanting to grab on his large biceps, he grabbed your hands pushing them down, lacing your fingers in his as he pinned them down.

“No touching the suit baby.” He tsked as he loomed over you. “You’re just gonna lie down and let Captain take care of you.”

His thrusts increased, the friction of he material rubbing against your sensitive clit only enhanced the novelty, his beard brushing your skin as he kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans.

You grabbed his hair, pulling him deeper, close to your release you pulled out the kissing panting,

“I’m gonna cum.” With that he pulled out to your shock.

Your mouth fell agape as he avoided your eyes “what’s wrong?” You grabbed his chin, pulling his face to look at you desperate for him to return inside of you.

“Mint condition you can’t cum on the suit honey.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Oh I’m very serious.” He pecked your forehead.

“Go lie in bed, Captain looks better naked anyways.” He chuckled.

You huffed as he held your hand while you slipped off the centre counter.

Was better than nothing you thought.

[lionlena]

We don't love each other (PedroPascalxreader) angst! Part II

A/N: I can't believe I wrote ANGST. It breaks my heart. All because of this one gif. In my imagination, Tyler looks like Tyler Hoechlin.

Summary:  You and Pedro are: friends with benefits, for many years. Your layout is simple and clear. You don't love each other. You're friends on a daily basis, you take care of each other... Sometimes you sleep together. You go on dates with other men and Pedro doesn't mind. Everything is simple until you accidentally hear Oscar say that Pedro loves you. Then you decide to tell him the truth and you ruin everything.

Warnings: angst!!! smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits, sad, broken hearts, age difference (reader is 15 years younger than Pedro)

A/N: This part is shorter and please... Don't be angry. I know some of you want a happy ending and I promise you will get it, but not yet.

*

Part II

It is said that mourning has 5 stages. Of course you knew Pedro was alive, but you felt you had lost him forever. So you started going through each stage one by one.

1. Denial

That's what you felt right after the fight with Pedro, when you cried alone. You didn't believe what he said. He was just drunk and didn't mean it at all. It was the alcohol fault.

You knew it was a lie. You've seen him drunk many times. He was the type to just get sleepy and cuddle more. He was never aggressive and was always aware of what he was saying.

2. Anger

You felt it as soon as you entered the house. You threw your suitcase furiously against the wall and started screaming.

How the fuck was he dare acting like this?! Fucking selfish. His age argument was ridiculous. The difference between the two of you wasn't that large. You were an adult. Damn, you were a mature woman! Leave that point for Leonardo!

And his fucking fame! There have been times in the past that your photos have appeared on gossip sites. You didn't care too much about it. But maybe it was him, he didn't want to ruin his image with someone like you.

3. Bargaining

Once you had calmed down, you sat down on the couch and while you drank another glass of wine, you began to analyze everything. It didn't have to be the end. You don't have to love him and he doesn't have to love you. You can still be friends without sex... Or with sex. Sometimes. Once a year. For so many years your system has been running like a well-oiled machine. You can still undo everything, right? If only you'd stayed at the door a few minutes more. If you had heard Pedro's whole conversation with Oscar.

4. Depression

You decided to spend all your holiday crying. For three days you lay on the couch and hardly moved. A pile of used tissues has gathered around you. There were two empty wine bottles and an ice cream wrapper under the table. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. But you really didn't care. You wanted to disappear. Just turn to dust like the people in "Avengers: Infinity War" after Thanos snapped his fingers.

You remembered how you made Pedro watch all the Marvel movies with you. He was teasing you so much about your crush on Captain America.

"You'll see, one day, I'll deliberately star in some movie with Chris Evans  to make you die of envy!"

Another loud sob escaped your lips. You were about to hide under the blanket when the doorbell rang. You were surprised. You didn't order food, you didn't wait for anyone... Your heart jumped like crazy.

It's Pedro! Of course "your" Pedro would come to you eventually. You quickly ran to open the door and your heart dropped to your feet.

"Ty?"

"Hey, Y/N." Your ex-boyfriend looked worried at you. "Can I go in?"

You were so shocked that you just shrugged and let him in. You sat on the couch and watched Tyler. The man scanned your living room and finally sat down on the coffee table, across from you.

"Y/N are you okay?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You just didn't believe it was Tyler. And of course he had to be nice and worry about you. What did you expect? You've been together for seven fucking months.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize to you."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. You were even more surprised when Tyler grabbed your hands.

"I understand that my proposal might have overwhelmed you. I shouldn't have done it like this. You had the right to feel pressured. I'm so sorry Y/N. I would have come earlier if I had known you were suffering so much."

One sec! Tyler thought your current state was the result of breaking off an engagement. Oh shit! Did he really have to pick the worst moment of your life? You felt like someone hit you on the head, with a hammer.

"Yes?" you asked with weak voice.

"Yes, baby. I'm not angry anymore. I missed you so much."

"Yes?"

Your brain has really stopped working. Tyler unfortunately found it cute and chuckled slightly.

"Yes! We've had so many wonderful moments. How about starting over? Slower this time. Maybe instead of getting engaged, you'd agree to move in together. But I'm not pushing. No pressure this time."

You nodded your head and just like that you were pushed into stage 5: acceptance.

You've lost Pedro. He will never come back to you. You couldn't turn Tyler down again. You had to come to terms with the idea that you would end up with someone you couldn't love. For the rest of your life. At least you won't be alone.

With Tyler's help, you cleaned the apartment and agreed to go for a walk with him because he said the fresh air would do you good. As you walked down the street with him and holding his hand, you still felt a huge emptiness in your chest. That's when you realized you'd never make it to Stage 5. You'd stay "depressed" forever.

*

(Pedro pov )

1. Denial

As Pedro stood on the beach and watched your taxi vanish into the horizon, he just couldn't believe it. All night he denied everything. It didn't happen. He misunderstood you. You didn't mean it. You were drunk. Only he knew you and knew you were serious. Both about loving him and about to leave you alone.

2. Anger

He wiped his tears furiously. Why did he have to be so stupid?! Why did he have to screw everything up? He didn't want to yell at you, he didn't want to break your heart, and most of all, he didn't want you to leave. And at the same time, he had enough. He hated every guy he had to share your lips with. He hated it when you came back to him for another dose of love. For years he told himself he could handle it. That it's better in this way. You didn't love him and you deserved someone better.

He was so consumed with anger that he didn't notice Oscar standing beside him. Well, his friend really had no timing.

"Hey man, what happened?"

Pedro glared at him angrily.

"It just fucking happened that you had to pick the worst possible day to talk about morality!"

"Whoa, slow down!"

Oscar held his hands up, but Pedro continued to press against him.

"Y/N overheard us! She came to me at night and confessed that she loved me, and I..." His voice broke. "I yelled at her... I told her I didn't want to love her..."

"Then why the fuck are you mad at me?! Remember what I told you when I  discovered you have agreement with her?"

"That it's sick and we're both going to suffer."

"Exactly! And now you're standing here taking your anger out on me. I didn't come up with this! You guys got yourself into this. It's not my fault you don't know what you want. How I was supposed to know she loved you... Ok, sometimes I suspected it, but..." Oscar sighed heavily as he saw his friend crying. He pulled Pedro into a hug. "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting, but maybe it's better this way."

Pedro clenched his hands on Oscar's shirt.

"I want her back," he mumbled.

3. Bargaining

Pedro couldn't just stay with the others and keep playing. He apologized to everyone, explaining the sudden need to shoot some scenes for The Mandalorian. Only Oscar and Sarah knew the truth.

When he got to his apartment, he was still analyzing everything. After all, he could still fix everything. You two will go back to your old layout. Eventually you'll realize that you don't love him. He will be able to have a part of you again. He will suffer and he will listen to Oscar's lectures again, but at least his heart will not be so empty.

After three days, he made a decision. He grabbed his car keys and cell phone and decided to go to your place. He parked near your apartment and was about to leave when he saw Tyler come out. You were right behind him. Your ex reached out to you. You smiled slightly and grabbed his hand. He realized that apparently you two are together again. And he hated him. Hated Tyler's square jaw, chiseled stomach, biceps... And he hated himself for being such a pathetic pup who lay down at your feet.

4. Depression

He spent the rest of the day sitting on the couch drinking beer and looking at pictures of you together. He felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. He had years to tell you the truth and he wasted it. So many times he could have tried to change something, but he was too late. He lost you and he was never going to accept that.

* Amor fugado,

( Run away love,)

Me tomas, me dejas, me exprimes, y me tiras a un lado

(You take me, you leave me, you squeeze me and throw me aside)

Te vas a otro cielo y regresas como los colibrís

(You go to another heaven and come back like the hummingbirds)

Me tienes como un perro a tus pies.

(You have me like a dog at your feet)

Labios compartidos, labios divididos

(Shared lips, divided lips,)

(mi amor)

Yo no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Y comparto el engaño y comparto mis días y el dolor

(That I share the deceive and I share my days and the pain)

Ya no puedo compartir tus labios

(I can’t share your lips)

Oh amor, oh amor, compartido

(Oh love, oh shared love)

Mana - Labios Compartidos

@creedslove​ I probably listened this song a hundred times while writing Pedro pov <3

Part I

Part III

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lighting Bug - Chapter 15

Master list 

Warning: mention of child abuse, mention of past abuse

Word Count: 3.1K

“Thank you,” you looked from your book and saw Steve. He was holding a book of his own - The Hobbit - and a small notebook. 

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, closing your book and setting up. “Why are you thanking me?” He pointed to the chair next to you, a silent question asking if he could join you. You nodded. He sat down, glancing at the book you were reading. 

“I haven’t read that one. Is it good?” It was Natasha Ngan’s second book, Girls of Storm and Shadow. 

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s a typical young adult fantasy novel. This is the second book in a trilogy,” you watched as he opened the notebook and wrote something down. “You still haven’t told me why you are thanking me.” He closed the book. 

“Bucky told me you and he talked,” he opened The Hobbit to where his bookmark was. “So thank you. You didn’t need to apologize but you did.” You watched the super soldier read. He used the bookmark to keep track of what line was one. 

“Do you miss how quiet it was before you went into the ice?” You found yourself asking. He paused the movement of the bookmark as he thought. “I assume it was quieter back then.” You added. 

“It was,” he said. “I miss how simple things were and sometimes the world is loud, especially with the enhanced hearing,” you nodded. “But I’m used to it now. I think it would be weird without it. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” you played with the pages of the book. “It wasn’t fair to Bucky. I was struggling to separate him and someone else.” 

“I understand.” You weren’t sure if he did. 

“What was Bucky like before the war?” You asked him. Steve smiled, a fond look in his eyes. He told you how protective Bucky was of him, especially after his mother died. Steve always found himself in fights with guys twice his size. But Bucky was there. “When did you know that you loved him?” He sighed. 

“It wasn’t until he fell off the train that I thought he was dead,” he said, tapping his fingers against the book. “It made me realize the feelings I had for him weren’t just platonic. One of the better things about living now instead of then,” he went back to reading. “It’s not perfect but it’s getting better.” It helped that he was Captain America. Who was going to tell him who he loved was wrong? Your father didn’t preach against it but you heard them talk about a same-sex couple they saw at the store and they did not say great things about them. 

“That notebook you wrote it in,” you said. “What is it?”

“It’s filled with different historical events, movies, and music,” he said. “I used it a lot to help me figure out the modern world. Now I use it more as a bucket list of sorts,” you nodded. 

“Sorry for the 20 questions,” you blushed. He smiled. “You can ask me something.” He looked at you, head tilted to the side as he thought of his question. 

“Are you happy here?” The question took you by surprise. You weren’t expecting it. 

“Yeah, I am,” you smiled. “I feel safe.”   

*

You sat on the couch with a notebook on your lap and your feet tucked underneath you. The talk with Steve got you thinking of all the things you’ve missed and wanted to accomplish so you decided to make your list. 

Go to the beach 

Go on a rollercoaster 

Watch Star Wars 

Learn how to swim 

Give Natasha, Wanda, America, Yelena, and Kate a hug

Reach out to Caleb?

“Hey,” America flopped down next to you. “Are you busy?” You shut the notebook and gave her your full attention. 

“Nope, what’s going on?” You asked. She smiled. 

“I have some homework from Strange,” she rolled her eyes. It made you smile. “Do you want to hang out with me while I work?” You nodded, a tight feeling forming in your chest. 

“Yeah, sounds like fun,” you followed her to her room. It was a similar layout to yours but the key difference was the decorations. She had posters and artwork on the wall. Stuffed animals on her bed and pictures of the Avengers. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” she picked up a few clothes and threw them in her closet. Her room didn’t look like a mess but lived in it. “Here, join me,” she climbed onto her bed and pulled a book onto her lap. You felt nervous for some reason. It was dumb, this wasn’t the first time you’d laid in bed with her. You shook your head and joined her.

“So,” you said, crossing your legs. “What is Strange having you do?” She opened the book. 

“Read,” she huffed. You couldn’t help but giggle. Her smile grew. “Your laugh is really cute.” You felt your cheeks burn and you busy yourself with playing with the blanket on her bed. “He thinks learning the history of the mystic arts will help me connect with my powers more,” she shrugged. “I just do what I’m told.”

“Explain it to me. I don’t know anything about it.”

“Okay, yeah I can do that,” she opened the book. “So this guy Agamotto found out you could draw power from alternate universes to create magic spells. He established the Masters of the Mystic Arts to protect people from extradimensional evil.”  

“Extradimensional evil?” You questioned. 

“Yeah, the dude was a little dramatic. It means ghosts or demons. Wong says the Avengers protect the world from physical dangers while sorcerers protect the Earth from more mystical threats,” she explained. Oh. That made sense? You weren’t sure. America laughed. “Your confused face is pretty cute too.” Again she made your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled. She laughed again. She continued to explain that different sanctums were built in Hong Kong, New York, and London. You were listening, you were, but your eyes landed on a framed picture of two women and a younger America. 

“Those are my moms,” you jumped, not expecting her to catch you looking at you. She had a smile on her face but it wasn’t happy, more sad or lost. 

“What happened?” You asked. She sighed, running her hands over her face and down her hair. 

“Are you ever afraid of yourself?” She asked. You chuckled. 

“All the time,” you admitted, looking down at your hands. 

“When I was younger I couldn't control my powers. I can jump through different multiverses,” she added. You weren’t 100% sure what she meant by that but you didn’t want to interpret. “I got scared by a bee. When I screamed, a portal to another universe opened and they went through. I’ve been searching for them ever since but I was alone until the Avengers saved me.” You were surprised at how similar your stories were. 

“I was 4 when I discovered what I could do,” you told her. “I accidentally shocked my brother. My parents were less than thrilled about it.”

“They hurt you, didn’t they?” You weren’t sure why it was so hard to admit it to her. You admitted it to Natasha and Yelena but you didn’t want America to see you differently. But you were silent for too long. You knew it was louder than anything you could say. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “But this isn’t about me. What happened to your moms wasn’t your fault,” she smiled, it was small. 

“It wasn’t your fault either,” she said, putting her hand on top of your gloves. “What your parents did to you wasn’t your fault. It’s on them.”

“Okay,” you whispered. You weren’t sure if you believed her. You were constantly told it was your fault. Every hand laid on you or every world screamed at you, it was all your fault.

“Knock, knock,” you pulled your hand away from America and looked at Natasha. She had a playful smirk on her face. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” you said. “Uh, what’s up?” She looked between you and America. Her smile was growing. You saw America’s cheeks blush out of the corner of your eye. 

“I just ran into Tony and he brought up you being homeschooled?” You groaned, rolling. 

“I didn’t give him an answer yet,” Natasha chuckled. 

“Why don’t you and Wanda and I sit down and talk about it?” You nodded, standing up. 

“I’ll see you later,” you said to America. “And thank you.” She smiled. 

“Yeah, of course,” you walked over to Natasha with your heart beating (). 

*

Natasha stepped out of the way so she could walk by. She watched the young girl walk over to the couch then looked back at America, who wouldn’t look at the Black Widow. “So..” America groaned, flopping onto her back. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” the young girl glared at her. 

“You didn’t have to say anything but you said enough,” Natasha chuckled. 

“Whatever you say, kid,” she closed the door to join her girlfriend and Y/n. Natasha had to admit they were cute together and she didn’t miss the way America would look at the newest member. She trusted America to be patient and not rush anything but she would have to give them both the shovel talk if things were going to progress. Wanda was sitting next to Y/n. The young girl was smiling at whatever Wanda said. “So,” the Black Widow said, sitting down. “Do you want to be homeschooled?”

“Yeah,” the teen said, biting her lip. “I’m just worried.” 

“What are you worried about?” Wanda asked. She looked down, playing with the bottom of her shirt. 

“I don’t want you guys to think I’m stupid,” she said. Natasha wondered how many times her heart would break as she would open up to them. “I never went to school. My parents didn’t want anyone to know I existed. The only reason I know how to read is that they forced me to read passages from the bible,” she sighed. 

“Dorogoy, you aren’t stupid,” Natasha said. “We would never think you were. I didn’t go to school.”

“The point of the test is to see where you're at,” Wanda said. “So Tony can make a plan to help. The grade doesn’t matter.” The teen didn’t seem conceived. 

“We’ll be proud of you no matter what you get.” Natasha saw the relief on the girl’s face. Was that the first time she’s heard that? She was starting to plot a way to hurt everyone who hurt this girl. 

“Okay,” she smiled. “I’d like to give it a try.” 

“Let’s go talk to Tony.” 

*

You were nervous as you sat between Wanda and Natasha. It felt stupid but you didn’t know why you were feeling this way. Maybe because you didn’t want to fail them. “Well isn’t my favorite family,” Tony said. Natasha rolled her eyes. “What can I do for you?” The couple looked at you. 

“Uh, I’d like to take you up on that offer about homeschooling,” you said. His smile grew. 

“Perfect,” he turned his back to you and opened a drawer. “You are going to need to take a placement test to see what educational level you are at,” he spun back around, holding a folder. “Here is a study guide that goes through the sections of the test.” You took the folder from him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Do you just have this study guide laying around?” You asked. He laughed. 

“I had a feeling you’d say yes,” you shook your head. “No rush when you want to take the test. Just let me know, okay?” 

“Okay,” you hit the folder against your hand. “Thank you for everything. I can’t express how grateful I am.” 

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Tony smiled. 

“You’re family,” Natasha said. Family. You felt your throat burn and your eyes watered with unshed tears. 

“We’ll be upstairs soon,” you nodded and walked out of Tony’s lab. You weren’t watching where you were going, to focus on the papers Tony gave you. It was a habit you never had before living in the tower. You always had to be on alert. You weren’t lying to Steve when you told him you felt safe here. So, when you ran into a body it didn’t phase you. 

“Sorry,” you and Peter said at the same time. You giggled. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He said. He was holding a textbook in his hands. 

“Neither was I apparently,” he laughed along with you. 

“What do you have there?” He asked. 

“Oh Tony suggested I start being homeschooled so he gave me some study material for the placement exam,” you could barely contain your excitement. 

“Can I see what he gave you?” You gave him the folder and watched as he flipped through the papers. “Well,” he handed it back to you. “If you need help with anything let me know. I know MJ and Ned could help as well.” 

“Thank you, Peter. I’ll keep that in mind,” you said your goodbyes and headed back to the floor. It was strange, you thought, how a group of strangers turned your life around.

*

Tony waited until the doors of his lap closed before looking back at the couple. “Have you asked her yet?” Natasha sighed, shaking her head. 

“We haven’t found a good time to,”

“And she’s just getting her footing,” Wanda added. “She hasn’t been here for long.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What happens if someone sees her and the news gets back to her brother and they come to get her?” He asked. “If you get guardianship of her it would be easier to fight.” Natasha’s stomach twisted at the idea of someone taking the young girl away. 

“Have you been keeping tabs on her family in California?” The Russian asked. Tony nodded. 

“Her brother is a senior in high school and on track to go to UCLA,” he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “Their aunt, on their mother’s side, is a 1st-grade teacher and their uncle owns a construction business.” He looked directly into Natasha’s eyes. “I know you care about her. This is the best thing for you.” But what if it wasn’t? What if she said no and that caused her to run? 

“We’ll talk to her.” 

*

The floor decided to have a movie night but when Natasha asked FRIDAY where Y/n was, the AI informed her she was in the library. So the Black Widow went to the library and found the teen asleep on the small couch with the study guide Tony gave her on the floor. It brought a smile to her face. But the thing that tipped it over the edge was the crochet blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She made a mental note to have Wanda make her own. She knelt in front of her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest and the peaceful look on her face. It was so strange, how a stranger entered her life and completely turned it upside down. Soon her eyes fluttered open and Natasha was staring into confused blue eyes. “Nat,” she mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What-?”

“We are going to watch a movie, do you want to join us or do you want to go back to sleep?” She blinked a few times, trying to process what Natasha said to her. 

“Sleep,” Natasha smiled, fighting the urge to run her hand through the girl’s hair. 

“Sleep it is. Let’s get you to bed then,” the teen groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “You are not sleeping here.” 

“Don’t wanna move,” she whined and Natasha had to bite her lip to stop her laugh from spilling out. She was throwing a small tantrum and it made her smile. The Black Widow knew her bed was going to be more comfortable. She thought back to what Kate said to get the teen to move to her bed. But she didn’t want to use cuddling as a bargaining chip. It couldn’t hurt for this one time. 

“How about we move to your bed and we can cuddle?” The Russian asked. She pulled the blanket off her head. 

“Cuddles?” She questioned. Natasha nodded with a smile as the teen’s eyebrows meant in the middle. “But aren’t you going to watch a movie?”

“Yes but between me and you, I would rather cuddle with you and we could watch a movie in your room.” The girl sat up and looked at Natasha, her blue eyes staring into the green. She was trying to find a lie. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Alright, let’s clean this up,” she nodded and helped Natasha pick up the papers. Once the library was cleaned, they walked back to their floor. “I’ll be right there,” she said. “Popcorn?”

“Popcorn,” she agreed and walked into her room. 

“Hey, is she joining us?” Wanda asked as Natasha walked into the kitchen. 

“No, and I’m not either,” she grabbed a popcorn bag and put it in the microwave. She leaned against the counter. “We are going to watch a movie in her room.” Wanda smiled, putting her hand on Natasha’s arm. 

“That’s great. Are you going to ask her?” Natasha shrugged as the microwave went off. She opened the bag and poured it into a bowl. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t want to ruin anything. She’s happy right now. I don’t want to change that.” Wanda nodded. 

“I understand. I’ll be behind you with whatever choice you make,” Natasha smiled, kissing Wanda softly. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Natasha grabbed two water bottles and headed to Y/n’s room. The teen was scrolling through the different streaming services. 

“What do you want to watch?” She asked as Natasha closed the door. 

“I’m not picky,” she huffed. Natasha laughed, climbing onto her bed. She placed the bowl between them and put the blanket over her. 

“The Incredibles?” She suggested. “I’ve never seen it.” 

“Perfect,” Before she pressed play, she rested her head on Natasha’s lap and put the metal bowl on her stomach. Natasha looked down at her, who was already looking up at her. She couldn’t figure out the look on the girl’s face. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. It felt different than the other times she’s said it. 

“Your welcome,” Natasha smiled. The girl hit play and turned her head to face the TV. Natasha could sit here and listen to her laugh forever. It was carefree, light, and happy. She was so different from the scared teen she met at Annie’s. She was healing and it was amazing to see.      

_

taglist: @aestruvx @toouncreativeforausername  @modedddd @whitewidowsbite  @julilamoment   @mythixmagic

[marvelousmrm]

Captain America Annual #5 (Michelinie/Colan, Oct 1981). Reading ahead, it seems like Gene Colan will leave Marvel soon after a falling out with new editor-in-chief Jim Shooter. I first noticed Colan’s work in 1965’s Tales to Astonish, where he drew Sub-Mariner stories under the pseudonym Adam Austin. Since then he’s had notable runs on Howard the Duck, Tomb of Dracula, and Daredevil. His figures, compositions, and page layouts have always stood out — he’s never trying to mimic Kirby or Buscema. It’s never been my cup of tea, but I do admire that he made his own eccentric niche in the bullpen.

[abarbaricyalp]

Written for the @sambuckylibrary Summer Bingo! Pride - Coming Out prompt // Rated G // Soft morning moment (and shenanigans) with Sarah and Bucky

Let The World Know

(Title obvi adapted from Diana Ross' "I'm Coming Out")

Bucky Barnes was a funny kind of contradiction. In all the stories Sam told the boys--when Bucky wasn't around to hear--he made the super soldier sound badass or scary. There wasn't a locked room in the world that Bucky couldn't get into. Not a fight he couldn't win. Not a decision he couldn't influence. The strongest, scariest people in the world were terrified of him and, if there were teams being made, everyone wanted Bucky on their side. And Sarah knew all of this was true. She'd done her own research on him. Bucky had sat down and told her himself about his past. She'd seen some of it in play, whether it was the time someone had threatened 'Captain America's family' or the fights she watched on the news or just him convincing the waitress to give him an extra free sweet tea. He could even negotiate the boys (Sam included) into a reasonable bedtime with no tears.

And yet, here was that same man, stumbling through her house like he didn't know the layout exactly, sleep pressed and rumpled, eyes hazy with lingering slumber. He was wearing a shirt that Sarah knew for certain was not his, because she'd bought it for Sam ages ago. He was also wearing a pair of Sam's athletic shorts because apparently he didn't own his own. And he smelled just like Sam's body wash. Except, it wasn't only the body wash. It was Sam all over. His room and his sheets and his warmth. Sarah got plenty of hugs from her brother. It never left her smelling like him.

Bucky pawed at the counters searching for any semi-clean mug that had been left out. There weren't any. When Sam did dishes, he didn't cut corners. And he was aware of Bucky's distaste for mornings, his half conscious habits. He definitely put all the mugs away.

Sarah watched him silently for a few seconds before she let herself into the living room. The couch was just as it had been the night before. The stack of young-readers chapter books that AJ had been tearing through was still on the arm and Cass's half complete science experiment was nestled in the opposite corner. The blanket that normally hung on the back of the couch was nowhere to be found, nor was the pillow Bucky had been using while he stayed in Delacroix.

She came back into the kitchen and continued to watch Bucky as he glared at the coffee machine, like that was going to fill the mug he'd found from somewhere.

"I'll say good morning in a second," he offered after a few more seconds of silence.

Sarah hummed and leaned back against the far counter. "James Barnes, did you just come out of my brother's room?" she asked when she thought he was suitably distracted again.

Bucky flinched like a cat who had been startled. "What? No," he scoffed. "Why would I be in Sam's room? He's home. There's no reason for him to be there. I mean, me to be there."

Sam had mentioned that Bucky couldn't lie. And it was true he had dimples that always gave away the game when he was pretending to blame the boys for something he did. But Sarah hadn't really believed that the world's greatest ghost intrigue story would literally be incapable of lying to the people who knew him. This was just sad. Even Sam would've done better and he was a God-awful liar.

"Barnes," she said warningly. "You're covered in his clothes and his soap and..." She reached over to tug the collar of the oversized shirt away from his neck. "His bruises."

Bucky's cheeks erupted in such a blush, Sarah could practically feel it radiating against her hand. But he didn't back away from her or bat her hand away like he would if she was Sam. She had to pull her hand away from the damning love bites that littered the lower half of his neck.

Bucky's eyes kept flicking from her face to the, still empty, mug in his hands and then back again. He was wide eyed but not scared. A little embarrassed, maybe. A little frustrated, undoubtedly. "I shouldn't be allowed to exist before ten in the morning," he complained and set the mug aside. "Sam knew I'd be the one to get caught."

"You're the only one who could get caught," Sarah pointed out. "It's his room."

"He wears my clothes too," Bucky defended weakly. He brought his hand up to his neck, rubbing at the bruises gently. "Normally they heal faster than this but last night..."

Sarah quickly waved him off. "I do not need details just 'cause I figured it out."

Bucky rolled his eyes his good-naturedly. "I was just going to say that last night as we did was mack on each other, so these are more fresh than they usually would be."

Still, Sarah grimaced, suddenly twelve years old again and disgusted that Sam had kissed Erica W at summer camp. Her face must have shown it because Bucky burst out laughing with that surprised guffaw of his that he always tamped down quickly. "Sarah Wilson," he mimicked her from earlier. "Are you worried I'm giving your brother cooties?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Who knows what you brought with you from the 40s. It's like those folks up in the Arctic defrosting old pathogens."

Bucky clutched at his chest. "And here I was, thinking Sam had used all the old man jokes available."

Sarah gave him a fond smile and he turned his attention to his fingers, picking at his cuticles.

"Is...is it okay that I'm-- That we're together? Me and Sam," he added with a nervous glance up through his eyelashes.

He reminded Sarah so much of the night Sam had first come out to her. He'd hidden it so perfectly in high school that he'd had to call an old flame of his to prove it to her, that this wasn't a new realization but a fully realized part of him. And then, 20 and halfway through his first tour, back for Christmas break, he'd told her about the man he'd fallen in love with in his training class. He'd been so nervous. He could barely even get the words out. It seemed like he spent the whole time fighting himself not to backtrack out of it.

But the way his eyes had lit up when she asked (demanded) to see a picture of them had said far more than any stuttering explanation ever could. That night, he'd told her that he'd never understood why she was so excited about planning dates or a wedding, but now he got it. Everything they did together, he said, was the most exciting thing that could happen.

Riley had become family, a missing piece whose absence wasn't visible until it was nonignorable. And that hole had been around for so long now, coring through Sam no matter how many layers he tried to cover it in.

And now, Bucky Barnes was fidgeting in her kitchen, looking the same kind of scared and convicted that Sam had all those years ago. The same kind of all enduring love was pouring out of him even as he sought her permission or approval. She wondered if she put her hand to Sam's chest, if she'd feel his soaring heartbeat again, instead of having her touch pass right through to muscle and bone.

"I have never been able to tell my brother anything," she said as noncommittally as she could.

Barnes looked about as strained as she expected. "I'm not asking if you're gonna talk him out of it. I wanna know if you're okay with it. With me."

Sam had told lots of stories about how badass and scary Bucky could be. He'd even had half a conversation like what Barnes was hinting at here, giving her a chance to ask him to keep that kind of history and danger away. But yesterday Sarah had stood right here in the kitchen and watched Bucky shove his arms elbow deep into a mud hole to catch a frog for Cass. And she'd heard him read to AJ until they were both passed out. And she knew, even without having to test her brother's heart, that he made Sam laugh again. And scowl and dance and cook and play in the ocean like a kid.

"Yes, Barnes," she agreed. "You're alright."

Bucky leaned against the counter next to her and gently nudged his shoulder against hers. "I appreciate it," he said and sounded like he genuinely meant it.

When his arm brushed around her back, she thought he was going to hug her. It wasn't until he was hissing at the heat of the coffee that she realized he'd stolen her mug and was chugging it down before she could snatch it back.

"Oh, you are just perfect for him!" she accused with a disbelieving laugh. She reached for the towel that hung off the front of the stove and snapped it at Bucky's hip, even as he made some undignified noise and danced away from her.

"Sarah, wait!" he pleaded between laughs, swinging open the fridge door to put a barrier between them. "We might be family one day. Have mercy."

"That ship's sailed, Barnes. Welcome to family," she said with her own laugh as she jumped around the side of the door to swat at him again. He went running for Sam's door while she called foul. Her objections worked about as well as they ever did on Sam too.

Welcome to the party, she thought while she listened to Sam and Bucky scuffle in the bedroom before Sam had shoved Bucky back out into the hallway to be at Sarah's mercy. Welcome, indeed.

[browsethestacks]

Original Art - Captain America #113 Pg 12-13 (1969) by Jim Steranko

From ha.com...

As a bonus, there is a graphite rough layout of this spread on the reverse side of the board.

[shironezuninja]

I didn’t know that Kazuki Takahashi released his Marvel manga one shot, “Secret Reverse”, starring Iron Man & Spider-Man, back in 2020. I’ll admire him forever.

[doctorhelena]

Inspired by the Steggy Christmas fic “All I Want for Christmas is You”, by @buckywiththegoodhair86, an AU in which Steve is a comic book artist and Peggy is an Avenger, and at one point Peggy throws an alligator at a bad guy. 

This is what might have happened if Steve was inspired to write and illustrate a children’s book about the incident, taking a bit of a lot of creative license with the alligator’s backstory. 😂 I also like to think that this is the first of a series of Little Golden Books he writes and illustrates about the adventures of Captain Carter. 

(And - Peggy is actually Captain America in the story, but I drew her as Captain Carter before I remembered that, so maybe Steve also changed her name and look for the book to give himself more creative license to make things up! 😁)

This was a collaborative effort with the fabulous @teaandatale, who took my drawing and my tentative book cover layout, and made it so much better!

[neptoons1998]

For You, I'll Do Anything

Summary: Shuri finds out her girlfriend has been kidnapped. So she goes to the only people who can help her.

A/N: Here's another one.

It was like any other night in Delacroix, Louisiana. The boys and Sarah were already in bed asleep. Sam and Bucky were outside enjoying the light humidity and enjoying the quiet scenery. Bucky and Sam came back to the small town from a recent successful mission. This was supposed to be their time to relax before they made there back to DC.

Keyword supposed.

Bucky and Sam saw a hovercraft making its way to the small farmhouse. As Sam got a closer look at the air flight it wasn’t just some hovercraft. It was Wakandaian hovercraft which could only mean one thing.

“Shuri,” Bucky whispered out in disbelief. He didn’t think he would’ve seen the former princess so soon. Bucky continued to look at her as she got out of the hovercraft. She was different from the spunky teenager teasing him and her brother. She had a look in her eyes where her innocent was at was replaced with something else. Bucky heard the news about the late queen’s passing and rumblings of nations wanting more Vabrium by any means necessary. Bucky couldn’t image dealing with a nation and losing the last family member.

Shuri gave a small smile at her friend,” Sergeant Barens, it’s been a moment hasn’t it?”

Bucky could only nod at her statement. Sam was taking hold of the one side conversation, “ Not that isn’t a pleasure seeing you, your majesty. but why are you here in Delacroix?”

Shuri’s eyes shifted to Sam, “I request a favor.”

“Which is?”

“You were on Raft. I ne-” Shuri started. Sam shook his head,” No, no.” Captain America stood up from his rocking chair and rubbed the back of his neck. The whole point of his being back in Louisiana was for him to relax.

“Do you know how dangerous that place is? It was a miracle that Steve was able to pull us out of that death trap. Who’s in there that has Wakandains?” Sam said letting the royal speak. 

“Her name is Riri Williams,” Shuri started, “She has been taken.”

“Taken? Maybe she went home. Or drop out?” Sam asked if he remember he drop out of college and join the air force before telling his parents. Who says this college student didn’t do the same?

“SHE WOU-” Shuri’s range flickered before coming down,” She would not do that to me.”

Silence swept in again, besides the light sound of crickets making their music.

“She’s a very important person. I know she was placed on the Raft. I just need to know the layout of the ship,” Shuri said. The queen was above begging she would do what she had to in order to save her love.

“I’ll go,” Bucky said taking some steps to Shuri. “It’s the least I can do.”

Sam shook his head already accepting his fate,” Which means I’ll have to go. Someone needs to watch over cyborg here.”

Shuri could only give a tired grin, “I’m glad.”

"But you said that it worked, "Riri hissed at the director. Valentina shrugged her shoulders, "And now I'm telling you it doesn't work."

"No, that can’t be right,” Riri accused as she pressed herself in her glass prison, "I know it right because I use the same formal for the gears. You are using it wrong.”

Valentina gave the young woman a stiff smile as she watched her with her cold eyes, "I think you are forgetting who's the boss here.”

The woman pulled out a tablet Riri looked closer at it she saw her mother unaware she was being watched. In her scrubs

"Now it would be a shame if something happened to your mom,” The director spoke as she slide her finger across the screen showing Sharon, Riri's younger sister. “Or your sister," Val continued showing Riri's sister laughing at whatever her friends were telling her.

"Please don't hurt them,” Riri pleads to the woman. Valentina gave a knowing smile, “That’s why I like you. You know to quit while you’re head, Ms. Williams.”

And with that, the director left the small prison, "I'm glad we came to an agreement."

Once the doors closed, Riri ripped her blueprints off the walls. Why isn't it working? Riri wanted to bang her head against the wall. With each tear, she gave to the blueprint the more frustrated she got.  She needs to figure out how to escape from whatever place they put her in. What then? her mind argued the CIA is a part of the government you can't escape anywhere. They will find you and drag everyone you love with you.  No, I can't think like that, Riri thought as she sat on the ground, she’ll find me she always does.

“I’m sorry who are you?” Riri asked 

Bucky pointed at himself, “Bucky.”

“You aren’t here to kill me right?” Riri asked not trusting the strange man. 

Bucky shook his head,” No, I’m here with Shuri.”

“Shuri’s here?” Riri’s ears perked up. She did come, after all, Riri’s heart fluttered.

Bucky quickly walked to the control panels, that kept Riri locked in her glass prison, “You probably have to use a special com-”

Bucky used his left arm to pull out the inner wires of the control panels. The glass of Riri’s imprisonment went down, “Or you could do that.”

“Come on,” Bucky grabbed Riri's hand as they raced to meet up with Shuri and Sam. Riri barely kept up with the super soldier's speed. “Slow down,” Riri panted, “I have short legs.”

As Riri was about to complain that she didn’t have long legs again. Riri caught sight of Shuri, who kicked one of the agents out cold, Riri raced to see her love, “Shuri!” Shuri commands the helmet off, “Riri.”

Shuri tightens her hold around Riri’s waist. The royal did a careful once-over look at her love, “Did they hurt you?”

“No, no I’m okay,” Riri said her eyes couldn’t escape the sight of Shuri’s. God, how she missed this woman. Riri could help but  do her once over on Shuri, “Did they hurt you?”

Shuri could only give a huff of amusement. As if the black panther could be hurt by CIA so call agents, “Who cares.”

She’s important, Sam recalled the anguish on Shuri’s face when she plead for his help.

“I do!” Riri proclaimed pressing her whole body weight into Shuri.

“Shuri, stop you’re embarrassing me,” Riri chided not really caring who sees her and love her. Shuri pressed her kiss, “Never.”