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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 5 years ago

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What We Did, pt. 24

Summary: After finding out you were pregnant, Bucky agrees to help you leave the hero life. The two of you go to Seattle, and hamper down for six months until you start dreaming of a certain someone. Convinced the dreams are a sign, you and Bucky go back to New York. Will everyone be happy to see the pair of you? What questions will they have? And will the lie Bucky and you made up finally resurface?

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my main bitch @childishhoebinoo again. THIS IS A BIT SHORT, SORRY!

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Four: Rose-colored

“Well, baby is looking great – you have only a few weeks left,” the doctor looked away from the ultrasound monitor and smiled at you before turning attention to Bucky. “Now, Dad, make sure to keep mom and baby happy.”

He laughed and nodded. “Will do.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she smiled and handed over the ultrasound photos over to you. “I’ll let the girls in the front know you’re coming in next week. I’ll see you two then.”

Bucky and you thanked her and when she leaves, he helps you up. You get dressed while Bucky admires the ultrasound and the two of you feel it in the air – impending parenthood. It’s not like you are afraid, but you were afraid.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be someone’s fucking mom,” you cried out dramatically. Bucky laughed and told you it will be fine. “Sure, you’re going to be great – but I’m a fucking train wreck.”

“Sweetheart, you are not a fucking train wreck; sailor mouthed? Yes, but you’re going to be a great mom,” Bucky insisted as he grabbed a hold of your wrist; he gently tugged you to him and kissed you on the mouth. The kiss was soft and warm, and you wondered briefly, if having sex on an examination table would be completely uncomfortable. The thought passes when your stomach growled and Bucky grinned.

“Come on, I’ll buy us lunch.”

…

The restaurant is quiet as the two of you eat a late lunch; Bucky ordered a hamburger while you went for a chicken sandwich. It’s delicious and the baby is happy, which makes you happy. Your stomach almost touches the edge of the table and Bucky lovingly teases when you can’t reach over for a napkin.

“Yes, let’s make fun of the pregnant lady – I’ll remember that when it comes time to change a shitty diaper.”

“You act like I’m not excited to change diapers,” Bucky argued back playfully. You rolled your eyes and sighed at the sound of your cell going off. You don’t want to pick it up, but it’s Tony. Bucky tells you to answer it and when you do, the man is talking a mile a minute.

“Hold on, Tony, what’s going on?”

“Barton, he got the papers.”

“We just finalized them the other day,” you pointed out.

Tony laughed. “What can I say, my lawyers work fast.”

Your heart dropped as you looked over to Bucky. “So, the lawyers sent Clint the custody agreement? He hasn’t called me.”

The expression on Bucky’s face was evident – displeased and a little worried as you listened to Tony explain the situation. You knew Bucky hadn’t been completely on board with the custody agreement Tony and you came up with, but he wanted to support you. He sat in on the phone conferences with the lawyers Pepper had hired and stayed quiet. You knew he thought Clint was a good man, because he was but you wanted to protect the baby, Bucky and admittedly, yourself.

Tony sighed. “No, he’s far too busy blowing up my cell. He’s become very colorful with his words, the messages are, honestly, performance art.”

“Fuck, I have to call him – he needs to know it’s not your fault. I came to you – you were just being a good friend. Thank you, Tony. I’ll take care of it.”

“No worries, kid. You know Pep and I are in your corner.”

The two of you hang up and suddenly the chicken sandwich didn’t look so good; you placed the phone down on the table and looked to Bucky – he was quietly contemplating something because you had to say his name twice before he looked to you.

You smiled at him and asked if he was okay. “I knew the lawyers sending the papers would get Clint going and I know you never were really onboard with all this…”

“No,” Bucky shook his head and reached down for your hand. He squeezed it tight and brought it up to his lips, giving your knuckles a light kiss. “I’m always going to be at your side, everything I really care about, everything that matters to me – it’s right here at this table. I don’t care what anyone thinks, it doesn’t matter how we ended up here, I’m just glad it happened.”

“Me too.”

Bucky grinned, letting your hand go to dig something out of his jacket pocket. You watched as he brought out a small velvet box, your heart raced as he smiled sheepishly. “I got this the day after you talked about getting married, I guess, I was afraid. I wasn’t sure if us getting married would be just for the kid…”

“God, no, Bucky….”

He nodded. “I know that now, but honestly, even if it was, I would have still married you. I’ve always loved you, doll. From the moment we met, I just loved you and when you told me you were pregnant – I just didn’t want you to do it alone. I didn’t want to see you doing this by yourself, not that you couldn’t.”

The two of you laughed and you leaned in to kiss him again, touching the side of his face. “I don’t want this with anyone else, I don’t,”

“Me neither, so let’s do this, yeah?”

Bucky took out the ring, it was a rose-colored gold braided with small diamonds all around it; it was lovely, and it was more than what you could ever imagine. He took your left hand, his mouth curved into a small, hopeful smile.

“What do you say? Marry this old Brooklyn boy, please.”

“Of course,” you cried out, holding back tears as he slipped on the ring. It was a perfect it and, in that moment, everything else didn’t matter. Throwing both arms around his neck, you kissed Bucky hard and long, forgetting all together how-to breath.

.....

What We Did tags: @the-yellow-girl96 @marvelouspottering @ravenclawrious @izzy10718 @castiels-sunflowers @joannie95 @crystlblu @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @canadianjelly @clockscountingbackwards @smollyssa @multifandomgirlrandomstuff @hazydespair @affabletimelady @daughterofthenight117 @star-incandescent @lost-in-the-stories@buckysboobear @bbkay7297-blog @theblueinyour-eyes

@butifulsoul125 @joebob24 @wowkenobi @vogueworthy-barnes @projectxhappiness @sarahp879 @mrshiddlesbatchstan @racheltheclumsy @insanitypledge @ayatimascd @mizzzpink @stangirl4eva @my-meant-to-find-blog @a–1–1–3 @coltcas @anon122010ns @loverontheweekend

@quietgeekygirl @asgardianmetalarmedtimelord @elevenismysweetie @the-lachrymose-one @queeeenofscots @huburtle @caseoffics @fucknpurplegrape @socialheartbreak @pebblesz892 @hiddeninthenightsky @ashkuuuu @justreadingfics @k-n-e @black-hats-cats-bats@midnightdream83 @shirukitsune @kcd15 @thenightshadequeen @bloodyproudpotterhead @chuuulip @dontneedbiologytoadopt @denise1605 @colie87 @marydragneell

@awkwardnesshabitat @grizabellasolo @

Forever tags:

@theweirdlunatic @supernaturallymarvellous @dancewaterdance02@yeahbutmarvel @infinity1321

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@myplaceofthingsilove @jchona @alyssaj23 @blackhoneybucky@urbanspacedecay @castieltrash1 @hannahsakorax3 @imagine-all-the-imagines @motleymoose @distinguishedqueenofbooks @kitkatgaming @fizzylollipop12 @iamwarrenspeace @darkmystress00 @lunarwolfrose @takemetoneverland91@sisinia13 @swiggityswagness @lianasparklezstuff

@takemetoneverland91 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @sarah-mos @rubynationwins @padfootorionblack @kaywolves @wonderlace19 @courtneychicken@rayleyanns @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @thewinterwitch @avengersgirllorianna@tatortot2701@brewsthespirit-blog @seabasschino @ex-bookjunky @travelwithwords@supernaturaldean67@thehuntchback @shoytai @besamiculo-puto @ign-is @zuni21798 @multipleuniversesinwriting @lauxeyson

@pleasantdreamqueen @damalseer @10kindsofderp @hennessy0274-blog @jodoethr @s-t-r-i-k-e-us @seeing-but-not-observing @happyskywhale @peekingsunshine@sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @cinema212 @geeksareunique @hercrazyfandomobsession @wildefire @sashavis @nosleeptillbucky @grace-for-sale @someonekindalikeyou @space-helen@sorenmarie87 @wickedsingularity @steve-rogers-personal-hell @wintersire @whatshernamemaria @theheadcanonsawakens

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@theflowerswillbloom @geeksareunique

#what we did #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel imagine

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browneyedmissy · 5 years ago

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P.S I Love You (Chapter One)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x Tara Day

Summary: A car accident leaves Tara with severe memory loss and her family works to help her adjust.

Author's Note: I have multiple plots running in my head haha.

Playlist: New Kind of Love by Skylar Gray, Take Me Home by Us the Duo, A Moment Apart by ODESZA, Back Here by BBMAK, Closing Time by Semisonic

When Tara opened her eyes, the first thing she was aware of was the pounding in her head. The white lights of the hospital were beating down on her and her body felt like it was bruised all over.

She squinted as two blurry figures at the end of the bed came into focus. One was a woman, dressed in scrubs, holding a clipboard that she could only assume was the doctor. The other was a man who was dressed in a white button up.

"Oh, thank goodness. Are you in any pain?" The man asked.

"My head is pounding." She replied, wincing as she tried to sit up. "And my back is really sore. Sir, my daughter Zoey, she wasn't hurt was she?"

The man looked at the doctor, a confused look on his face on his face. The doctor frowned, checking her clipboard.

"Tara, can you tell me what year it is?"

She scrunched her face in concentration. The buzzing in her head wasn't going away and her stomach was churning.

"It's 2016." She finally said slowly as the two people in front of her exchanged looks. Her stomach dropped as she realized that her answer was worrisome to them. "My name is Tara Day, my daughter Zoey is nine and we just moved to Goldcliffe so that she can attend Bernhardt."

"Tara," The man said softly. He moved to her bedside and took her hand. "Tara, do you know who I am?"

Tara blinked at him, trying to concentrate on his face. He had bright blue eyes and his hair was slightly disheveled. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn't place his face.

She shook her head slowly as his face fell.

"I'm your husband, Tara. My name is Thomas Mendez."

He could still remember the moment that the hospital called. Seeing Godcliffe Hospital sent his stomach churning and as he answered, the words Tara, accident and hospital left him fearing the worst.

His secretary Eric had knocked and open the door, his face concerned. Thomas had cleared his throat, telling him to reschedule his meetings for the rest of the day as he hurried out the door.

When he arrived at the hospital, the doctor had explained that Tara had been involved in an accident. He swallowed the bile that threatened to come up as he thought about five years prior, the last time he was in this situation.

But Tara was okay, the doctor explained. She did hit her head on the steering wheel so they were monitoring her for concussion and brain trauma but her vitals otherwise seemed okay.

He took a deep breath before calling Alma, Eiko and Levi separately, Alma assuring him that she would pick up the girls.

"What should I tell them?" Alma had asked.

He wasn't sure. "Just that she was in an accident and she's okay. I'll let you know the details as I get them."

They let him into her room and his stomach dropped as he saw his wife in her hospital bed with a bandage around her head. Her eyes were closed and he felt relief as he observed her chest moving up and down, indicating her breathing.

He spent the next or two hour pacing back and forth. He was able to talk to both of the girls, courtesy of Alma and Luz sounded as if she was holding back tears the entire time, no doubt thinking about her own mother. Zoey, he learned later, had been consoling her sister and was oddly calm.

"Let me know when she wakes up." She had said.

"Of course." He said tiredly as he sank into the chair.

"And Papa? Mom will be okay. She's stronger than she looks."

"Thanks, Astro." He mumbled.

When Tara opened her eyes, he had felt relief. He wasn't quite sure how he would handle going through that pain again. But when she looked at him, she looked confused and the realization that she could not remember anything before moving to Godcliffe- the custody battle, her friends, and him and Luz…

When Soledad died, he didn't think that he would ever find love again. Tara had been a surprise, a second chance at happiness.

And now she couldn't remember him.

"All of her memories are from three years ago." He said to the doctor. He told Tara brief details about how she and Zoey had moved in with him and Luz and how they had gotten married six months after. How she had finished her bachelor's degree and was now running a bakery with her friend Alma.

When she began to start nodding off, he decided she needed a break. He had leaned in to kiss her out of instinct, but when she looked surprised he had kissed her on the forehead instead.

"Unfortunately, that was the result of her head trauma." The doctor sighed. "I can't tell you how soon she'll be able to remember things, Mr. Mendez. The hope is that she can keep forming memories and that the old ones will come back to her. Take it slow with her, it may be frustrating for her when she knows she should know someone but can't remember."

"My daughter, Luz. She lost her own mother already and I don't know if Tara will remember her. How do I explain that to a twelve year old?"

He wanted to punch something out of frustration. Poor Luz, who had found so much comfort in Tara would potentially face another heartbreak.

"The main thing I can recommend is making sure you all go to a therapist. It's obviously going to be hard on all four of you. Your friends and family are going to be the best support in this period of time." Her beeper went off and she sighed. "I need to go meet with another patient, but feel free to call the hospital if you have any questions. You have my info."

Tara stayed under supervision for the next few days. Thomas visited at lunch for each of them. He would bring her food from her favorite places and she would give him a smile in return. He followed what the doctor's advice and mostly talked about their daughters and their friends, showing her pictures from his phone.

Luz and Zoey came by the day before Tara had been scheduled to be discharged. Tara's eyes filled with tears when she saw her daughter, older than she remembered. Luz had been standing at the door frame as her sister reunited with their mother.

"I'm Luz." She said as Tara's eyes met hers over Zoey's shoulder. "I'm one of your daughters. Step-daughter, I guess but you just always call me your daughter."

Zoey stepped to the side as Luz walked closer to Tara's bedside. Tara reached out and took her hand as she sat down in the chair.

"Do you remember me, Tara?" Luz asked, her voice trembling.

Tara stared at her, hard in concentration. If she could choose to remember anyone, she would remember this girl who looked at her with sad, pleading eyes.

"I'm sorry, Luz." She whispered back finally. "I wish I could remember. It's really hard right now, but I promise I'm going to try."

Luz's lower lip trembled as she put her arms around Tara, tears running down her face.

"It's okay, Mom."

"That was hard." Tara sighed, after Zoey and Luz left. "If I could remember anyone, it would be her. Not that I wish I couldn't remember you, Thomas!"

Thomas chuckled as he sat down next to his wife. "I know. I would have you remember her too. That's what it's like to be a parent. You wish the happiest for your kids."

"Zoey looks so tall. I remember her at nine and now she's so much older."

Thomas watched as her hands clutched and unclutched the bedding. He reached over and took her hands, and she looked at him.

"Does it bother you that I don't remember you?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"It's more like an ache in my heart." He sighed. "I am so used to having you as my partner in crime. I also remember how much you struggled when you first came here and I remember how resilient you were with every damn thing thrown your way."

"You speak so highly of me."

Whenever he complimented her, Tara had always given him a sweet smile and then looked down, biting her lip. Watching her do that now, made his heart both flutter and ache.

"I think the world of you, Tara." He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And I have the urge to kiss you right now. But I don't want to push this faster than you're comfortable with. I want you to come home with us and you can stay in the guest bedroom next to Zoey's."

"You're so sincere." She mused. "And a good person. I might fall in love with again."

Thomas laughed. "We'll figure things out as they go. But for the record, Tara, I fall in love with you again and again, day after day."

@heauxplesslydevoted @hatescapsicum @cora-nova @princess-geek @flyawayboo @sunnyxdazed

#thomas mendez x mc #thomas mendez #mother of the year #moty #missywrites #playchoices

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kacydeneen · 5 years ago

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Records Show Abuse of Minors in CBP Custody: ACLU

After nearly four years of fighting the federal government, the American Civil Liberties Union has published documents it said show the abuse of minors at the hands of U.S. Border Patrol agents.

The ACLU received more than 33,000 pages of official documentation including audio and video clips from the Department of Homeland Security, Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection. Some of the documents include several complaints from San Diego and Imperial Counties.

3 Dead, 9 Hurt in Shooting at Southern California Home

In one complaint, a 17-year-old boy accused a CBP agent of punching him in the head three times.

The documentation of alleged abuses goes back to 2008, long before President Donald Trump took office.

Nats Beat Astros 7-2, Force Game 7

"The difference is that back then the enforcement, if someone reported something like that they were taken more seriously as opposed to now it is almost brushed under the table," immigration attorney Jacob Sapochnick said. "You can complain about CBP mistreatment — nothing’s going to happen."

Sapochnick told NBC 7 this issue of CBP abuse is not an issue of the past, but one he sees regularly in his office.

Apple Resumes Human Reviews of Siri Audio With iPhone Update

“We had an incident a few months ago where two sisters were held in a holding facility with cockroaches there for 48 hours," Sapochnick said. Both of those girls were minors, he added.

NBC 7 also recently spoke to a Salvadoran asylum seeker who was detained by CBP for 10 days with her 9-year-old daughter.

“They would give us spoiled burritos with beans to eat, crackers and juice,” the unidentified woman said.

Click here for the complete publication and documents.

The ACLU initially started its search for public records after filing a complaint asking the Department of Homeland Security to look into the abuse of more than 100 children by CBP.

The DHS responded saying it would look into the complaints but closed the case 4 months later, according to the ACLU.

U.S. Customs and Border Protection responded to the claims via email:

“CBP’s Office of Professional Responsibility investigates allegations of misconduct on the part of CBP employees when an allegation provides sufficient information necessary to conduct an appropriate inquiry.

All CBP employees embody our core values, perform their duties with integrity, and are dedicated to our mission of securing the American people and our borders while facilitating legitimate trade and travel. The men and women of CBP perform their duties professionally and treat everyone equally with dignity and respect. Children represent the most vulnerable population, and every agent carries a fundamental ethical and moral belief as well as a legal obligation to put the welfare of any child first.”

The records include a wide range of documents such as reports of investigations, agency emails describing investigations, complaints submitted by third parties or nonprofit organizations, agency files describing internal investigations, online complaint forms, and interviews with DHS employees alleged to have abused or mistreated children.

Sapochnick added, “It starts there and then if you don't stop it where is it going to end? Because once you start torturing people that are helpless. what’s going to happen when you go to people that are actually in this country, immigrants that being detained driving by CBP or ICE.”

Photo Credit: U.S. Customs and Border Protection Records Show Abuse of Minors in CBP Custody: ACLU published first on Miami News

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junseth · 7 years ago

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The Hilarious Prospect of Blockchains

Bitcoin is hard enough. It’s rocket science. How it works, why it works, whether it works are both difficult to ascertain as well as difficult and to understand at even a surface level. Take, for example, the recent mining of the 17 millionth Bitcoin. James Lopp has a great Twitter thread describing how hard it is to even know how many coins have been mined. Nothing in Bitcoin is cut and dry. Everything is probabilistic. Nothing is easy to track or understand. Every decision miners make (when they are professional miners) is in dedication to making money. That is their role here. That is the only reason they mine at all. They aren’t benevolent actors working away to make the Bitcoin system run. They mine because selfishness.

That is the nature of “Blockchain.” This is not all as reducible as it might seem. All the questions asked here are difficult. Further, there are so many things that the users of these chains don’t understand. Take, for example, the recent analysis of Monero. This blockchain, whose rhetoric-believing users have touted the science of fungibility built in to the chain because math have transacted in a way that causes a huge portion of the chain’s transactions to be traceable. 64% of transactions have been done with a single mix-in. This tainted set of transactions continues to plague current transactions with broken fungibility. And the fix, according to the analysis, isn’t much better. The fix allows a transaction to be traced to its originator with an accuracy of about 97%.

Monero’s adherents have been using the chain for years. None of this was known until now. And even now, there, I’m sure, will be objections and critiques of the analysis itself. This is science. There is no question. The idea that there are millions of people watching the chain and making sure that others in the chain are behaving correctly is laughable. Most data requires a degree in astro-physics (or its equivalent) to uncover.

So, now, we ask what the purpose of all this crypto is. Money, at least in the Keynesian sense, is understood to be a list of debts. Basically, you give unto me this thing, I give unto you this acknowledgement that I owed you one. This is the simple of why money is debt-based. It’s also the essence of why money isn’t a commodity in the sense that gold is a commodity or oil is a commodity. The use of money needs to be utterly narrow. It’s why written on our money is “this note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.” That is what money is, and that is what money is for. Oil can be used as a lubricant, oil can be used to derive gasoline or diesel. Oil can be used in the creation of plastics. Oil is bad money.

Interestingly, Bitcoin (and I will just discuss Bitcoin) is a great way to transfer value. It is a spaceless commodity with almost no use outside of its use as a value transfer device - at least not yet. This makes it a great way to move money where the process of moving money is expensive. For legal transactions, this will mean that (unless the person has a terribly bad understanding of their risks) they will need an easy way to liquidate the commodity. No business should expose themselves to the risk of holding Bitcoin unless they are a custodian service. For those that are doing illegal things, holding value in Bitcoin is a great way to store value though it exposes that person to the volatility of the commodity. And to those who would tout the benefits of something like tether for this cause, consider that those who are holding money for doing that which is deemed deviant, are exposed to the possibility of seizure every time their money enters an exchange. Moreover, they must ask themselves if they are more comfortable exposing themselves to the volatility of Bitcoin or the risks of a poorly managed peg.

Money is hard. Bitcoin is hard. What I like about it is that Bitcoin forces many of us to ask “why?” when considering how the current system works. Those who have been fair with their answers, understand things like custodianship is one of the world’s most solved and most difficult problems. How do you hold money? The answer for Bitcoiners has involved all sorts of frustrations. Hold your own Bitcoin might be the mantra of the anarchic arrivals, but it’s not practical for ma and pa. And holding it yourself presents all sorts of other problems. Who here had heard of an “air-gapped machine” before Bitcoin? Who had heard of a private key? Some of you will say you had. I’d venture that most hadn’t. And I think the numbers bear it out. Given the Monero data, it seems pretty clear that individuals do not know how to manage their own private keys. And the proliferation of hardware wallets demonstrates something similar. How much money is on Trezors? How risky might that be? These are hard, if not impossible, to quantify.

So now we enter the era of innovation in “blockchain.” All these ICOs have popped up touting their incredible inventiveness. Most of them are doing things in the blockchain space. Many of them are solving what they deem to be hard problems. But generally, these hard problems are being proposed by people no older than their early twenties. Or, they are proposed by narrow-minded neophytes solving problems in industries they have nothing but a myopic understanding of. Listen to the musicians for example. Tatiana Moroz has a token. Originally it was proposed as a token with little to no actual function. She said she was the first musician to adopt Blockchain stuff. She may have accepted payment in it. But that was nothing more than masturbatory self-importance. There was no liquidity in the market for TatianaCoin. Imogen Heap proposed a blockchain solution to the very difficult problem that musicians have: cutting checks to band members. The revolution is here. Now, instead of a bar owner paying a band (which is a corporation) and that band using modern infrastructures like HR software or the humbler check to pay their mates, Imogen has proposed offloading the burden of payments to the payee. Now the bar owner can easily pay the entire band. All he has to do is take his dollars (which he has lots of), obtain Ethereum (which he has none of), take custody of Ethereum for a time (probably will have to buy a ledger or a Trezor or learn private/public key management), then send it off to a checksum-less smart contract where something happens. Now that the band members have Ethereum, they can easily sell it on an exchange. They can then withdraw it for a fee. And voilla, it will end up in their bank account. This simple process is the proposed solution to what used to be the cumbersome and difficult process of direct deposit. Or, the antiquated practice of handing someone cash. I can only dream of a day when my valet is tipped in Ethereum or Bitcoin rather than taking directly from my hands the disgusting fiat. Imagine the improvements that will be rained down by such efficient applications. Every transaction will take only 12 seconds or a minute or 10 minutes or some variation thereof as we wait for a block time to confirm. The valet will subsequently verify he’s received my tip and thank me for giving him custody of the commodity which he will eventually cash out of to pay for groceries.

And while Lightning Network may cut down on necessity of waiting for blocks to confirm, there is something so idiotic about the process of both cashing in and cashing out of these cryptos that is cringe inducing.

The stark reality is that Blockchains are really dumb. There are some innovations that might end up being inspired by them. But for the most part, the current applications are so exceedingly stupid, that I can’t even. More than that they are being funded by more money than I have ever seen move into a space. But the thing is, there’s not really any institutional money here yet. The Universities aren’t putting money into the space. The VCs are just barely starting to touch it. So where is that money coming from? I strongly suspect that it is a combination of foreign nationals and the nouveau rich. I strongly suspect that this is the definition of dumb money. And one doesn’t have to look very far to see times when the dumb money has sunk an economy.

For “Blockchain” the only real businesses that we need are businesses that focus on custodianship of some sort. Custodial services are the fundamental, missing piece of the ecosystem. Institutions have them. Individuals... not so much. Wallets like Armory (which is a bit dead) are necessities. And what’s worse is that as the Blockchain gets more complicated, as Bitcoin becomes harder to understand, we will soon find that these services are both more and more needed as well as more and more absent.

So where does that leave “blockchain?” Blockchain is still as useless as ever. It amazes me that most of the world laughed at the concept of a blockchain only to show up 8 years after its invention decrying naysayers like myself as narrow-minded and ignorant. Those of us who have been here, sitting in the lap of innovation, being laughed at, we are the ones who don’t understand how this works. It’s an interesting turn that I wish I had had the foresight to predict. Obviously, arrogance would have prevented those who avoided this tech early on from admitting why, and Dunning-Krueger would prevent them from understanding how difficult it is to wrap their minds around. Alas, my crystal ball and naivety prevented that prediction. I suppose it will be another 10 years before everyone realizes that the real innovation of products like Ethereum is the redefining of the word “multi-sig” to “smart contract.” Same thing, sexier wrapping. And while people like Pitbull struggle to figure that out, I suppose I can find solace in the fact that real science is still happening in Bitcoin.

0 notes

keaalu · 8 years ago

Text

Keeping it

Setting – Deixar, Cybertron. “Blue” AU. Probably about 8 years (deci-vorn?) before the missing Skywarp finally reappears. TC gets a cameo here but this is mostly OCs. (Whitesides and Pulsar)

--------

It was getting late. Not that you could really tell.

Most of the day had already drained out of the sky, leaving only a thin rind of surly orange at the horizon, but lurid night-cycle advertisements bled unreasonable colours up into the dark and turned everything confusing shades of pink and cyan.

That was one of the drawbacks of this whole ‘urban renewal’ thing. Pulsar preferred it when the dark cycle was… well, dark.

Deixar central police station was quiet and calm; a little island that the vivid neon hadn’t quite invaded yet. The grav-bike traipsed heavily past the front desk, dragging her feet and leaving dirty scuffmarks on the tiles of the foyer. She’d pulled a double, as a favour to her sister, and now had a head full of data and no space to think.

“Hey, Pulse?”

A voice bumped into her thoughts; she glanced up to see the desk sergeant watching her.

“You’re late back, tonight. Problem shift?” he prompted.

She realised she was trying to get into a storage cupboard instead of the lift, and vented a small sigh at herself. Maybe she was more depleted than she’d thought. “S’fine.” She found a smile for him. “Just need to defrag. Pulled a double, covering for Beemer.”

He bobbed his head in a single nod. “That's the second time in ten orns. You know you can say ‘no’ when she asks you?”

Pulsar spread her hands, and offered a little shrug, smile and roll of the eyes before stepping onto the lift. The instant the doors sliced him away from view, she sagged back against the wall, and let her head bonk down onto the mirrored surface.

That’s what siblings were for, right? Bailing you out if you got in a jam. So why was it always her that seeming to do the bailing?

’Cause you’re a fragging doormat, Pulse; that’s why.

She covered her face with both hands and sighed into her palms. There was a difference between bailing someone out because they were a mate, and shamelessly preying on a femme’s good nature because you knew she was a mug who’d always cave if you laid it on thick enough.

The lift ding!ed softly and the doors opened on the office. She stared out at the first row of desks, with their high partitions and banks of computer terminals, and for the count of ten thousand, wondered whether she’d end up on disciplinary proceedings if she just… turned around and went home, scan data be damned?

No. She had to upload it all at some point. Better to get a clear head than attempt to defragment this almighty mess. She slipped out between the lift doors just as they began to close, and headed into the maze of untidy workstations.

The upper floor offices were quiet; this time of night, no-one really wanted to head all the way to the top of the station just to upload their sensor data. A handful of officers were spread among the desks, but she didn’t know any of them very well, and none of them acknowledged her. Suited her just fine.

She made her way over to the corner, and her favourite terminal, furthest from the dirty white street-lighting pooling in from outside. It was a glitchy piece of slag that really needed replacing, but it was also the most comfortable, being closest to both a decent air conditioner and the tower’s main ground rod, and she’d got the hang of exactly how to get its flaky connectors to respond. She scrambled inelegantly up onto one of the high desk chairs, and delivered a single sharp blow to the top left of the terminal screen.

After a second or two where the screen just flickered, ominously… it hummed to life and chirped a saccharine greeting that made her want to punch it for real. It extended a cable for her to hook up with.

Next time, she told herself, accepting the handshake and slumping back in her chair, one of her sibs could do it.

If she could actually find either of the lazy fraggers. Her two siblings must have precognition in their skillsets, because they always managed to slope off right before Longbeam came along, pleading for cover. Surefire had conveniently been called back to Earth, ostensibly to work. Whitesides had gone completely off the grid, unannounced as ever; she was trying not to worry about him. You know the mech’s in a relationship, Pulse, because the whole station is abuzz trying to work out who with.

-you owe me- she pinged Longbeam, and glared when the only response was a smiley face.

Trying to swallow her irritation, Pulsar turned her attention onto the deliciously cool air pouring down from the venting, leaning her stool back into it. Maybe she could get a few minutes defragment while it was quiet? She shut off her optics, relaxed back in her chair, and let her free arm dangle.

Pit, it was nice to just ground for a while. It didn’t take long to ease into a pleasant doze, letting her higher awareness slip into idle while her head-full of data slowly cleared.

Something small and light bounced off one of her antennae. She rebooted her optics and watched as a scrunched-up candy wrapper rolled to a halt next to her outstretched hand.

She frowned. Why was someone throwing things at her when they (presumably) had a perfectly functioning communications array – or vocaliser, for that matter – that they could use to get her attention?

She stretched up to peer over her terminal, trying to spot whoever had thrown it, but no-one looked back. Instead, she leaned forwards and picked up the ball of glittery cellophane, and smoothed it out between her thumbs. It was disappointingly blank.

“Psst!”

The voice came from one side. She turned to look, and in the gloom of an unlit storage alcove, finally spotted two dim blue lights; the optics of someone trying very hard not to draw attention to himself. A small yellow hand emerged briefly from the shadow to wave her over.

“Whitesides?” She frowned at her sibling. “Where have you-”

He interrupted with an urgent little ssh! and beckoned more emphatically.

Her frown deepened, but she obediently unplugged from the terminal, and made her way over to him. She’d uploaded enough data to have regained a clear head – the rest of her scans would have to wait.

“So you’re not too good to be seen with us, now?” she challenged, arms folded.

Whitesides managed a nervous giggle and shooed her behind a shelving unit.

“Where have you been?” Pulsar had to fight off the urge to shake him. “You couldn’t even ping us a hello to let us know you weren’t stuffed in a dumpster in a back alley somewhere?”

“Sorry.” For someone who’d made a name for himself as the master of the gossip around the station, his voice was unusually soft. Shaky. He met her gaze for only a few uneasy seconds. “I-I would have, but-… I wanted to skate under the radar, for a breem or two. Didn’t want anyone else spotting my signal just yet.” He shifted from one foot to the other, brought one hand up to rub the opposing arm. “I sneaked in through custody.”

Pulsar had heard the babble about Skyshout wanting extra hands to help quell a riot in the cell block, at the rear of the station, and could imagine one little bike managing to slip past the ruckus without attracting much attention.

He twisted his hands together and drew a short, steadying intake of cold air through his core. “Listen, I’m in a spot of bother. Could I-… could I ask a tiny favour off you?”

“A favour.” She tried to swallow it, but the sigh slipped out anyway. “Sure.” She threw up her hands. “Why not. Why should Beemer be the only one allowed to monopolise every last astro-second of my spare time.”

Whitesides almost flinched, and shrank back on himself. “Sorry! Sorry. I-… I mean, it’s-… All right. Never mind! It doesn’t matter.” He cast a furtive glance around the alcove, as if hopeful of finding a helpful person among the cluttered shelves. Or maybe looking for an exit. “Sorry. I knew you were busy, I shouldn’t have barged in. I’ll, I’ll… think of something-”

Pulsar vented a sigh of stuffy air through her pursed lips and put out an arm to stop him slinking away. “No, no. It’s all right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just… feeling a little taken for granted, right now. And not by you. It’s made me fractious.” She managed to find a tired half-smile for him that didn’t come across as a complete snarl. “What kind of favour.”

He shifted his weight back onto the other foot, unable to keep from fidgeting. “Maybe I should start over. Could we go and, um. Talk in private somewhere?”

“How bad is the trouble you’re in?” she intuited.

He gave another of those funny nervous little laughs that wasn’t mirrored in his expression. “…I try not to make it too obvious, and I might as well just paint it across my chassis. It’s… complicated.”

“It’s always complicated, with you. Who was it this time?”

“It’s not that. Or rather it is that as well, but it’s more than just that.” He laced both hands over the back of his neck. “Primus. I practiced what I was going to say the whole way up here and then you asked something I wasn’t expecting and the words are escaping me and-… I’m just making myself look an idiot. Give me a moment?”

“Sure.” She stood and quietly took in how scruffy the mech was – dusty, dirty, with little dents and flecks of someone else’s paint scuffed into his pale enamel, and such a dramatic kink in one of his antennae, the whole unit would probably need replacing. He rarely got so bumped around when he was actually on duty.

Must have been a pretty sustained attack. “Was it them that roughed you up?” She reached out a hand to see if she could straighten the bent aerial somewhat, but he ducked back out of reach.

“Oh, that – no, it was my fault.” He covered the long silver stems spreading from behind his audio venting with both palms. “Wasn’t watching where I was going. Took a wrong turn somewhere. You’ve ended up in districts that aren’t friendly towards police; you know what it’s like?”

It wasn’t remotely convincing, but Pulsar didn’t push. “...right.”

His unusually-shifty manner was setting off a whole cacophony of alarm bells in the back of her head. Whitesides’ lack of guile – and inability to lie convincingly – was what tended to get him in trouble in the first place. Who had he lied to? And – mercy – what had they done when they’d seen through it? A hundred terrible scenarios had already invaded her thoughts.

“So, um.” Whitesides twisted his hands together and took another long stabilising draught of cold air. “I have to go to the hospital. Would-… would you come with me? I’ve got an appointment, and, um-” His voice stuck, briefly. “I’m scared to go.”

The terrible scenarios all immediately stopped, only to be replaced by terrible scenarios of a slightly different flavour. He didn’t look badly hurt. Maybe that was the problem. “…Was that the favour?”

He nodded, silently, just once.

“Of course I will. But why don’t you wait until you feel better, though?” She held out a hand for him, but he declined to take it. “Give yourself a chance to stop and think. You might decide you don’t want me there, after all.”

She almost added, because you don’t look that bad, you vain little mech, but swallowed the words at the last moment. At least nothing looked life-threatening. He was a bit bashed around, but a trip through the washracks would deal with the dirt, and the bent antenna might be distracting but it wouldn’t hurt.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, although she couldn’t quite shed the frown tightening her brows. She gestured an arm towards the office. “Or, if it’s easier, we could just go see Spotweld? He’s on duty downstairs and he’s pretty good at being diplomati-”

Whitesides jumped as though stung. “No-! No, uh.”

Pulsar gave him a funny look.

“I-I mean. I’ve already got an appointment. Uh. Out in Tysta.”

“Tysta? That’s a whole district over! Why ever did you want to go all the way out there?”

“Privacy. No-one knows me, over there. Plus, uh, this is the second time I’ve made the appointment.” His voice was little more than a whisper; so unlike him. “I don’t want to annoy them by cancelling again. I went once already, but, uh…” He shrugged. “I got spooked and came home, instead.”

“What’s wrong, Whites?” She took both of his hands and refused to let them go, leaning closer to meet his gaze. “Please. You’re scaring me. Is someone threatening you? Has someone hurt you?” She strained to catch any flicker in his expression that might betray his confidence. “Is someone trying to blackmail you? If they’ve tried to embarrass you, or something… Look, we’ll sort something out, it’ll be fine-”

He jerked his hands free, and choked the words out: “I’m sparked, Pulse.”

Silence yawned up between them like a monstrous black hole. He looked like he wanted to suck the words back in, or have the ground swallow him, or perhaps both.

For several seconds, all she could do was stare at him.

“Yeah. I’m-… I’m sparked,” he repeated, shakily.

“Sparked?” she finally managed, and he flapped his hands, frantically shush!-ing her. “How?”

He spread his palms. “Well, see, when two people love each other very much…” His voice broke and the words strangled off, and he forced out a laugh or maybe a sob or something to cover it. “Careless, I guess? An accident? Maybe my baffle slipped, I don’t know." He gave her a loaded glance. "You know better than me that accidents happen."

Her optics narrowed and he looked away.

She gave him a long, wary look. “…this… is a good thing… isn’t it?” She tried for a small smile; the mech always got a funny wistful look about him when the idea of children came up. So why doesn’t it look it? “Have you told your partner?”

This time, the noise was definitely more of a sob. “Yeah. I’ve… explained. I think.”

Okay; it definitely hadn’t been a good thing. She squeezed his hands. "I've been worried spare about you, mech. Why did it take you so long to come talk to me?”

“Needed a few orns to myself. To-to… brace myself for the gossip, I guess?”

Whitesides’ loose plating wasn’t precisely a secret. Making his way up the chain of command, one berth at a time. It never took much to win his affection, and he might not be too fussy who he shared sparks with – or where, or how often… -- and current opinion held that it was a miracle he hadn’t got himself in this kind of a mess three times already.

But he’d always been a bright, passionate, generous little mech, too, who never asked for much except to be loved back, and it made her furious to see him so shaky and broken.

“Did they do this to you?” She ran her thumb over the kink in his aerial and gently tried to press it out.

“No!” Too fast; he hastily added an ineffectual lie that the expression in his optics said he knew she didn’t believe. “No. Just-… ended up in a rougher part of the district, where policebikes don’t usually go on their own and certainly not in uniform.” Another of those horrible little attempts at a self-deprecating laugh.

“Through your own choice?”

“Of-… of course through my own choice. Why else would it have been?”

“Nobody perhaps encouraged you to go, to make sure you knew to keep your vocaliser offline?”

“Of-of course not. It’s not like I’d have said anything unless they wanted-… I wasn’t trying to blackmail anyone-!”

“…When did I ever mention blackmail, Whites?”

He shook his hands free of her grip, but she’d already felt him trembling. “I’m sorry. Primus, I’m sorry. What a mess.” He paced out a tight circle in the alcove’s limited floorspace. Heat already made the air around him shimmer. “I should have made sure I could get under control before talking to you. What a mess.” He groaned and clutched at the shelves for support. “Primus. Is it meant to always hurt like this?” His knees wobbled underneath him.

“Shh, shh, it’s only feedback,” she soothed, holding his shoulders and supporting him while he shook. “You’ve got hot and stressed and your core pressure has gone up.” She straightened and looked briefly out into the office; the few officers still around didn’t even spare her a glance. “Let’s not hide in a cupboard, eh? We’ll go and find somewhere nice and cool. The mess down the corridor should be empty this time of the orn.”

She shepherded him through the empty washracks, to rinse off the worst of the dust and maybe cool him down a little, then retreated to the quiet staff break-room next to the Superintendent’s office. Officers of her grade weren’t strictly allowed access, but she knew a few strings she could pull if anyone gave her a hard time.

Not as if two bikes quietly huddled up together in the slouchy cushions in the corner by the big window would raise many eyebrows. They gazed out over the city together; watching life go on under the intense dark of a sky turned starless by the riot of colour in the streets below.

“Come on.” Pulsar let him snuggle closer, curling an arm around his shoulders and trying to extend her electric field enough to support him. He felt so prickly, it was like trying to comfort a small magnetic storm. “You’ve got to give me the details, now. How long have you known?”

The words were still quiet, but Whitesides didn’t sound quite so shellshocked as he had. “About… five orns, give or take. It started to hurt, but I wasn’t injured, and-… I remembered what you said happened with yours. Why you went to speak to Sepp that time.” He let his helm rest against the front of her shoulder. “I went to a doctor in Tysta. Somewhere no-one knows me, just in case. He says it’s not very old yet, probably only about twenty orns.”

“You’ve already got it checked out? Why do you need me, then?”

“Because I’m a coward.” He laughed, miserably. “It all seemed so big. I didn’t- didn’t want to rush into something I hadn’t really thought about and couldn’t undo.” He gave her a hopeful glance, although he still couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “You don’t have to actually do anything. I-I’ve got the appointment, I just…” His voice dwindled, fracturing into a whisper that she struggled to hear. “Need someone with me. Don’t want to go and… stare at the door for half an orn then run away, again.”

She managed a small smile. “I never said I’d changed my mind. You’re still going to have to put up with me tagging along behind you.” She stroked his antennae, gently. “Just wondered why you needed to go back.”

“To, uh.” He couldn’t force the words out, and had to reboot his vocaliser. “To get rid of it.”

She stayed silent, to let the words sink in.

He struggled on, in the silence. “It’s. The doctor said, uh. Not very stable yet. Uh. If-if… I wanted to get rid of it, it won’t… it’ll be quite straight-forward-”

“Why?”

“Might forgive me, if I dissolve it.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Might even want me back.”

Anger surged inside her, and Pulsar had to work surprisingly hard to keep her field even. “Oh, Whites. Primus. Look. Whatever you want to do,” she said, in a soft, stilted voice. “You have my support. All right?”

She felt him nod against her shoulder.

“But it’s got to be what you want, Whites. Primus, please.” She cupped his cheek and forced him to look her in the optic. “This has to be your decision, spark! Don’t you dare do this just because some overbearing, jealous… slagmunch… doesn’t want to take responsibility for their actions. They gave up their chance to have any input on your decision when they left you feeling like you didn’t.”

He actually flinched and averted his gaze. “It’s not about what I want, though, is it? It’s something I don’t have any choice about. I’ve got to be sensible about this. P-practical. I can’t just be… selfish. I-I… have no idea how I’d even afford to look after it.”

It didn’t take a psychologist to work out exactly what must be going on. Someone was embarrassed; probably someone much more important than a lowly policebike.

Well if they hadn’t wanted to feel ashamed of sparking up one of the juniors, they shouldn’t have led the poor spark on in the first place!

She could feel her field starting to bristle, angry – furious – on his behalf.

He could feel it, too, and was actually cringing away from her. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Pulse. Please please-… I can’t lose this job, I can’t-!”

“Is that what they said to you?” Her spark hurt, hot and constricted.

“Is-… is what?”

“Keep your mouth shut or you’re on the streets. Get rid of it or you’re out of a job.”

“N-no. No! I just-… I didn’t do it on purpose. I thought they’d be happy-! I-I-… I don’t know what to do, Pulse.” His words dissolved into static.

Pulsar curled tighter around him and pressed her cheek against the top of his helm. “It’s all right,” she whispered, humming softly. “It’ll be fine, we’ll think of something.”

For someone who never normally needed an excuse to snuggle, Whitesides clung to her like a mech who’d been starved of friendly contact for millennia, arms so tight around her chassis she thought her plating might actually buckle. She tried not to fantasize about what she’d do if she ever caught up with the sparkless scrapheap that put her friend in such a state.

“S-said-… thought I was t-trying to blackmail,” he tried to explain. His vocaliser was hitchy and discordant; most of the words came in fits and starts between the static. “Poisonous, treacherous little whore-”

“Oh, Whites-… who cares what they think, when they clearly can’t even see what’s right in front of them?”

He made a funny strangled little noise, and shut his vocaliser off altogether.

She swallowed any further words, and just hummed softly for him instead.

After what felt like a very long time, he finally began to calm – his deathgrip began to ease, his field began to smooth out, his shaking began to ease. “Thanks,” he croaked, faintly, sitting forwards and wiping his face with one hand. “Sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Don’t apologise, mech. Who else could you have got involved?” she chastised, gently, and he finally found a more genuine flicker of a smile for her. “So. What do you want to do? I’ll still come with you to the hospital, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

He remained silent, for a few moments; lifted his hand and flattened the palm over his spark, almost absent-minded. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” She set her own hand over the top. “It’s why you didn’t just go and do it in the first place.”

He let his hand slip back to his lap. “How will I afford it? My salary doesn’t precisely make me affluent on a normal day, let alone looking after a newspark.”

“You afford it the same way that I afforded it – and I had two hungry monsters to keep in fuel.” She offered a small, sheepish smile. “You’re not the only one to have ever had an affair, you know? Or an accident. Besides, you helped me drag my twins up to be mostly-responsible adults without even being asked, it’s only fair for me to return the favour. You know the rest of the guys will help out.”

“I can’t take you all for granted like that-”

“It’s not taking someone for granted if they offer to help in the first place.” She watched as he scrubbed a palm over his antennae, trying to wake himself up a little. Poor mech looked exhausted. “You need to get some rest, because you look almost flat. When’s your next shift?”

“Uh.” He had to think about it for a full few seconds. “Not for an orn and a half?”

“Good. That means you can come home with me and get some proper down time. Infinitely more comfortable than dealing with that flock of gossips down in dorms.” She grasped both his hands in both of hers, and leaned backwards, encouraging him to his feet. He responded heavily, but at least he was still responding.

Large families were mixed blessings. Pulsar had never quite got used to the noise… but the benefits vastly outweighed the annoyances.

She pinged Footloose, asking her sparkling to meet them on the roof, then boldly marched through the superintendent’s empty office and up the short flight of stairs to the air gate. Whitesides followed, clinging to her hand, looking like a lost turbopuppy – small, silent, emotionally exhausted.

Footloose scooped them both up and gave them a lift to Pulsar’s suburban home, and although you could see the worry in her optics, she didn’t push; just wrapped her uncle in a hug and held him for a few moments before whirling away to attend her next trauma case.

The house was empty and dark; thank Primus for small mercies. It meant she didn’t have to figure out how to explain with Whitesides and his frazzled emotions right there, listening in.

By the time Pulsar had got her brother settled in her room and ensured he was recharging, and gone down to the storage unit to fetch a flask of something well-filtered and ice-cold, she felt half-grey already; dead on her feet. Making it back upstairs to her room just wasn’t going to happen.

She folded a thermal foil around her shoulders and plopped down on the enormous couch at the rear of the atrium, then pressed the heels of her hands against her optics. “Ugh.” So much for that downtime she’d been looking forwards to. Wasn’t that long until her next shift was due to start. She hoped she’d get the chance to finish her upload before then, or she’d be the one conked out in a back alley.

She glared briefly at her flask, and drained it in one single long gulp. It didn’t make her feel even remotely better.

It felt like she’d stared at the reflection of her own optics for a very long time before the thunder of jet engines shaded subtly into her awareness. Sounded like her housemates were on the way home, at last; she’d not seen either since yesterday, when they’d headed out to New Vos, to discuss the ongoing rebuild-…

She caught herself scanning the sky for the familiar pinpoints of paired running lights, and realised just how much she was looking forwards to having a trustworthy audio to unload on. (Assuming she could stay awake long enough to do so. Or figure out how to even start the conversation.)

The two jets touched down in their comparatively-luxurious front yard. Leaving his wingmate outside, discussing something with Nightsun, Starscream was first through the door in the huge glass front wall, his arms loaded with plant samples. He did a brief double-take at seeing Pulsar on the couch… then stood and stared more suspiciously at her, as if to ask why she was on the couch and not in the chaos of her own room. When she failed to volunteer anything, he muttered something she didn’t catch and carried on his way without further challenging her.

Thundercracker was more forthcoming. He hesitated in the centre of the atrium, and just frowned at her, for a few seconds, waiting for her to speak. “Everything all right?” he coaxed, when she didn’t take the invitation.

She opened her mouth to speak, and realised that she didn’t actually know how to broach the subject. After a few seconds where his brows perked higher and she felt like even more of an idiot, she finally managed to clarify; “there’s going to be a new addition to the family.”

He… froze… for just long enough that she realised the implications of her words.

“Not me,” she hastily added, sitting straighter in alarm. “Primus! Haha, no, Primus, not me.”

The dark head perked briefly to one side. “Whitesides?” he guessed. She figured he must have picked up the mech’s frequency, and added the two together. He lowered his bulk to perch elegantly on the arm of the couch. “…is he all right?”

“No.” She laughed, sourly. “And for once he’s not even trying to pretend everything’s fine.” She covered her optics with one hands and vented a huff of hot air in a short, frustrated sigh. “I swear, if I ever find out who’s been treating that poor mech like a dirty little secret?” She stabbed a finger at him, as if to drive home the point. “I will yank their spark out, through their damn exhaust.”

“All right, firecracker.” He rested a giant hand on her shoulder. “I’ll even hold ’em down for you. But maybe you should wait until you’ve got some rest, eh?”

“Rest! Pit. That’d be nice,” she groaned, and let her arms flop out to either side. “But I’ve got to be back at work at any time. Talk about Beemer’s bad timing.”

“No you don’t. I’ve already organised cover for you.”

She looked up at him and frowned.

“Why do you think I was talking to Nightsun? Nice though it is to actually get the chance to talk to my deputy every now and then…” The blue mech smiled in a way that Pulsar took to be a subtle telling-off. “When the junior officers invite themselves into the senior lounge, then leave the building via the superintendent’s private air-gate, people take notice.”

“…oh.” She hunched her shoulders and glanced away. “Iiii didn’t think anyone had spotted us.”

“That much was obvious.” He flicked a finger gently across her antennae. “Get some rest, eh? I think we’re all going to need it…!”

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Crossposted to http://keaalu.dreamwidth.org/33224.html and http://keaalu.livejournal.com/470242.html for people who prefer those platforms...

#whitesides #pulsar #Blue au #transformers #short story

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 5 years ago

Text

What We Did, pt. 23

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my main bitch @childishhoebinoo again. THIS IS A BIT SHORT, SORRY!

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Three : Hard ball

The vegan food was delish, Bucky knew you had been craving it and had picked it up on his way home from work. He was counting on me being happy, but he would have never imagined you would ask him to marry him – he stood dumbfounded when you got up from the couch and took the food from him, walking it to the kitchen. He fumbled after you and watched with a drop jaw as you began to unpack the takeout.

“Did you just ask for my hand in marriage?”

“It’s not 1940 anymore, women can proposal too, babe.”

He laughed. “That’s all fine and dandy, sweetheart but I’m just shocked you’re asking.”

You smiled and shrugged. “Seems like the logical next step.”

Bucky’s smile sets into a frown and you realized his feelings are hurt; you know him well enough. Sighing, you walked over to him and hugged him tight, your belly firm against his. You inhaled his smell; he smelled like paint. He held you, rocking your body until you are laughing; but then your laugh fades.

“Clint called today,” you whispered.

The rocking stopped and Bucky asked what he wanted. You tell him everything, that Clint wants 50/50 custody eventually and how much it scared you. He listened as you talked about Laura having her place in all this and since Clint and her are married, you are scared Bucky will drown.

“I can swim,” he assured you but it’s not funny.

“Bucky, I want you to have rights. You are going to be a huge part of the baby’s life; you’re getting the day to day. Clint will get visits but you…” you touched the side of his face and sighed. “You are the one who’s going to be picking him up from school; the one that gives him advice on girls, and I want you to legally have some say in it.”

“Clint is his biological father; he will have more rights than me – the law will be on his side.”

“I know but if we get married, you’ll be at the same level as Laura on paper,” you argued, hand falling from his face. Your stomach growled and Bucky smiled, placing his hand over your belly.

“I won’t lie and say getting married hasn’t crossed my mind, but like this? To prove something to someone else; it doesn’t feel right. “

Your heart sank at the thought of Bucky thinking you wanted to marry him purely on technicality. It made you feel guilt, like you were using him as a pawn in a game and that wasn’t it at all. Looking at him, you smiled and said okay. “You’re right, we have nothing to prove to anyone.”

“Good,” he answered, kissing you on the forehead. “Let’s eat.”

….

The house was quiet from the outside except the low sound of the television; you were laying on the grass in the backyard, the sliding door to the living room was open. Bucky was sleeping on the couch, had passed out twenty minutes into a history documentary.

“Do you think a lawyer would do any good?”

“I can have the best one takes a look at your case.”

“Tony,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “It’s not a case, it’s just a precaution. I’m scared Clint’s going to want 50/50 right out the gate; he’s pushing for more than I am willingly to give.”

“Barton is a good man; it won’t be hard to see that.”

You knew what Tony was saying was true; any judge would see how dedicated a parent Clint is, but you were scared he was going to take everything from you. He somehow seemed to have the power, when from the beginning you wanted him to have nothing with the baby – this made you feel like Satan himself but that was what you thought would be best for everyone; you weren’t counting on things to work out this way.

“What should I do, Tony?” Your voice was meek, and you glanced over to the sliding door, feeling, again, guilty, that you were doing things behind Bucky’s back. “I need to have some sort of reassurance.”

There was a long pause on Tony’s end until he sighed. “I understand, you know Pepper and I are in your corner no matter what. I’ll have Pep talk to the lawyer and we’ll get back to you.”

A wave of relief washes over you and you thanked the man, who promises to get in touch as soon as possible. The two of you talk for another ten minutes about the pregnancy and Pepper’s ideas for baby names. You laugh and feel better, and when the two of you said goodbye, you know Bucky needs to know why you called Tony.

You get up and stretch, walk back into the house and close the sliding door; you sit on the coffee table facing Bucky – he’s sleeping peacefully, face soft and relaxed. You loved him so much and all this was for him, that’s all you cared about. Bucky deserved the world and if that meant pushing back on Clint’s need to parent, then that’s what needed to be done. You were tired of everything coming in your way of happiness with Bucky – you weren’t going to play nice.

“Babe,” you whispered, touching the side of Bucky’s face. He stirred and a few seconds go by before he opens his eyes, asking if something was wrong. “No, but we need to talk.”

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#what we did #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes #marvel #marvel fic #ivonnes imagine #marvel imagine

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