#i did not find the addition of sam to be in any way weird in the dream. it was like sam had been there the whole time

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ao3 (includes additional notes)

Chapter 6:

"Did the police find any razors in the rest of the candy, Mrs. Wallace?" Dean listens to his brother interview the victim's wife as he searches for anything ‘weird.’ 

"No, I mean, I don’t think so… I just – I can’t believe it. You hear urban legends about this stuff, but it actually happens?"

"More than you might imagine."

Dean finds it, the hex bag stuffed between the fridge and the counter. He holds it up behind the widow's back so Sam can see. 

Sam sighs, "Mrs. Wallace, did Luke have any enemies? Anyone who might have held a grudge against him?"

"No, and if someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better way than  razors in a single piece of candy when there's an entire bag?"

And the lady would have a point, if they weren't dealing with a witch.

---

Dean bit into the chocolate, it was the cheap stuff that people didn't mind giving out for free, even when it he was and adult man two days before the holiday. It was too sweet and had a weird after taste. Not great but worth it when Sam made a face.

"Really?"

"It's Halloween, man."

There's a rustling sound, Danny pulls another candy from its wrapper. He pops it into his mouth.

"You too? After the the razor blades?"

"I don't mind a few metal bits, adds crunch."

"Seriously?" Dean turns to the kid, who's watching them innocently, "You chowing down on sheet metal when we're not looking?"

"I might be, you'll neeever know."

"Uh-huh." Dean was pretty sure he was messing with them. Pretty sure. "Find anything interesting Sammy?"

"Hexbag has some serious stuff. This plant has been extinct for 200 years, this coin looks real, 600 years old real... and this," Sam lifts the little burned thing. "Is the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby."

"Gross. Witches man, I hate'm."

"Well, we're dealing with a powerful one. Getting stuff like this, wouldn't be easy."

"That or they're super rich." Danny offers. 

"What would a super rich guy get out killing a soccer dad?"

"Wants revenge on the guy who married his college sweetheart who got away?"

"Uh... sure? Do you have a name?" Sam asks.

"No, I was just throwing out possibilities."

"So we have nothing."

---

Then there was the second hex bag in a random high-schooler's party, a girl boiled alive in room temperature water. 

"Maybe this witch isn’t working the grudge, maybe they’re working a spell..." Sam skims over an old creepy book. "Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."

"That's an incredibly inefficient way to summon Frighty." Danny mumbles. 

"Frighty?"

"Fright Knight, Spirit of Halloween."

"The demon the witch is trying to summon, Samhain? You know him." Sam clarified, Dean watched the kid carefully.

"Not by that name.” He flopped back on the unclaimed bed that would probably Dean's but was currently serving as a couch. “Names are important. And he's not a Demon he's a spirit."

"Samhain, the origin of Halloween, the Samhain the Celts believed in.  October 31st was the night of the year when the veil was the thinnest between the living and the dead, Samhain’s night. I mean, masks were put on to hide from him, sweets left on doorsteps to appease him, faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago."

"And in those centuries Halloween changed, became trick-or-treating, pranks, parties, candy and horror movies. The idea of Halloween itself, the spirit of Halloween. Fright Knight shed his old name and became something to reflect that. He won't like you dredging up past identity."

"You're sure you don't just know a different guy?" Dean asked. He wouldn't believe this if he hadn't still had the Autumn Dance's song echoing in his dreams.

"Yeah, Frighty's sensitive about it."

"So this witch is summoning what? More Halloween fun?"

"No, he'll be mad. Probably send her to a nightmare realm, but it won't go past that."

"Well... good."

"And you're sure?" Sam asks, "According to this once he's raised he can do raising of his own."

"Frighty wouldn't."

"Alright... still we should find this witch before she kills anyone else."

"Of course."

---

A whole day of stakeout to find out that the cheerleader had lied to their faces, she'd had access to both houses, claiming to never have heard of the Wallace's. Then they find her history of violence, the fact that she's emancipated and very well could be living fake ID to fake ID.

Finding her on the other hand... was proving more difficult. 

Danny had even walked them through a couple of front doors, like straight through the front door, like they were the ghosts. It was weird, and cold, and super useful even though it didn't amount to much. 

They needed a gameplan. And a gameplan seemed much more likely to drop into their lap when Danny opens the motel door and says, "Oh, hi Castiel! 

"Danny," Castiel greets, "Dean. Sam."

"Oh my God!– er– uh– I didn’t mean to– sorry. It’s an honor, really, I– I’ve heard a lot about you." Sam expertly fumbles as he moves out of the entryway. 

"And I, you. Sam Winchester... The boy with the demon blood... Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities." Wow... awkward. 

"Let’s keep it that way." Adds a guy staring ominously out the window.

"Yeah, okay, chuckles." Dean turns to Castiel. "Who’s your friend?"

"The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"Not yet, what's it to you?"

"Have you found the witch?"

"We know who she is."

"Is she dead?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer."

"Lucifer is no friend of ours." Says nameless angel #2.

"It’s just an expression."

"Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs. And the witch knows who you are." Castiel lifts a Hexbag.

"This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

"I would've found it. I only just got back." Danny defends and both angels' attention snap to him. 

Danny has offended #2 "You cannot be certain of—" 

"It's a pretty strong energy, I doubt some drywall would stifle it much." 

"Regardless. You need to leave this town immediately." 

"Why?"

"Because we’re about to destroy it." Castiel informs them. And Dean expects it when the air goes cold. The angel's shift uneasily, but they don't pin Danny as the source.

"Your plan is to smite the whole friggin’ town?"

"We’re out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here." Sam argues

"One thousand two hundred fourteen." #2 corrects.

"And you’re willing to kill them all?" Dean can hear Sam's faith shattering, and he hates these guys even more.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city." #2 tells them

"It is regrettable." Castiel sympathizes.

"Regrettable?"

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"And we're just supposed to let you?" Danny asks. "Because of your apocalypse's prophesied precursors?"

"It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here."

"And ten years ago they said Phantom was inevitable. They said only one half'a life, against six billion. But guess what? We're all still here."

"The abomination." #2 recognizes, from whatever this story Danny is telling is. Frost snakes up the windows. Their breaths fog in the air, but #2 is undeterred. "This is not the same."

And the Angel's do notice the change, but instead of Danny, they turn to glare at Sam .

"No," Dean lies, because he doesn't want to know if Danny is being stupidly arrogant or if he actually can take these guys. Part of him knows the collateral of either outcome... he doesn't want to know. And he's ticked off, and the angels are looking at Sam like they're going to smite him for something he's not even doing. So, he bluffs, if it backfires then Danny can do whatever he planned to do. "if you’re gonna smite this whole town, then you’re gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself." #2 tells him, and just him, Dean realizes. They aren't offering to save anyone else. He's even more sure this is the right thing.

"Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me, then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." He turns to Castiel who, oddly, is more sympathetic than his friend. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel! I will not let these peop–"

"Uriel, that's enough." Castiel holds up his hand, silencing #2 whose name is Uriel, apparently. Castiel watches Dean for a long moment. "I suggest you move quickly."

---

"Do you guys have this? I think I should spy on them." Danny says when, presumably, they're out of the angel's earshot.

"You trust this Halloween guy?"

"With the jewels behind the throne." At some point Dean will stop being thrown by the things the kid says. At some point.

"Right... Then they're the bigger threat. We'll figure it out, call us if they're planning a double cross."

Danny vanishes from the back seat. 

"You okay?" He asks Sam, who still looks miserable. They do say to never meet your heroes.

---

"The decision's been made." Castiel tells Uriel. Unfortunately, he does not elaborate on what decision, or what outcome has been decided on.

"By a mud monkey." Uriel laughs bitterly.

"You shouldn’t call them that."

"Ah, it’s what they are, savages, just plumbing on two legs."

Danny flips himself over the bench the angel's share, so he sits between them, upside-down so his feet hang over the backrest and his head dangles off the edge of the seat. It's not a defensible position... for someone worried about silly things like corporeal objects. "That's mean for a guy who's currently wearing a human person. At least show some respect for him."

The angels don't jump, and he didn’t really expect them too, but it's always fun when they do.

"And it's close to blasphemy." Castiel warns Uriel, but Danny heeds the warning as well. Castiel seems to be on team let-the-town-live instead of team nuclear bomb, and Danny would like it to stay that way, so he's not going to try to narrow down where in the realms these guys are from. (At least today.)

Uriel sighs, "Very well. But I do not take orders from this one, regardless of his involvement in the Abomination's unmaking."

Huh? 

"Of course not. Why are you here, Danny."

Huh? Okay normally when beings like this start throwing around words like abomination, they're talking about him.

"I'm keeping an eye on you guys. Obviously."

"We are not planning to break the seal. Your priority should be the witch."

"Yeah well, Frighty hasn't expressed desire to end an entire town."

"We are trying to prevent the end of your world." 

Danny doesn't say 'I am the end of this world.' Because he's not, because he refuses to be and they probably won’t get that he's joking. He doesn't say 'I could've been the end of this world' because... they don't seem to know that?

"Like the Observants failed to do?" He says instead and he wish- no he was disappointed he hadn't sat so he could see the angel's faces. He wonders if they have members in that group.

"The Observants succeeded." Uriel corrects. And isn't that interesting. Did the Eyeballs lie to angels? Danny wouldn't put it past them.

"No, no they didn't. They handed it off to the Timekeeper, who disobeyed. The "Abomination" just didn't feel like much destruction."

"It lives?" Uriel demanded. 

"Nothing dead lives." Danny lied. 

"It still exists, and you know where it is." Castiel guesses.

Danny stands, like a normal person would stand because apparently angels can't tell what they're talking too. Maybe it's the anti-Vladco-tracking-device device in his shoe? But yeah, standing like that means he has to awkwardly unhook his legs and climb off the bench. "Obviously."

"Where?"

"Ah, no. I thought we established that I don't trust you."

Uriel stands, fast, so fast a human might not track it. "You will tell us."

"Will you try to make me if I'm under his protection?"

Uriel stops, doesn't quite get in his face.

"The world isn't going to end." Danny tells them, it's almost a promise.

Castiel stands. "So you'll ignore what Samhain will do? Because you don't believe the seals hold power?" 

Danny sighs, “ Fright Knight , his name is Fright Knight.”

“Does his summoner know that?” Uriel asks, with the smugness of someone who knows old magic. 

“What do you know?”

---

Dean feels a little uneasy when Fright Knight rises in the dying man's body. He feels doubt when he calls the witch beautiful, hopeful, when he kills the witch, and doubt again when he calls her a whore. Like sure, but it doesn't feel like something Danny's friends would say, you know? Then again, he's Danny’s friend and he's not really above it? Maybe he's just reading into it because of Ruby, and Lilith, and every other demon who's shown utter disdain for their followers. Still, he thinks the kid would at least give the guy a disappointed look.

But Fright Knight didn't seem bothered by them playing dead on the ground, faces covered in blood because of Sam's quick thinking.

He didn't seem delighted by the trick-or-treating or the decorations like Danny said he would be. They follow him to the cemetery and arrive just in time to hear the screaming start.

They split up, Dean frees the kids and starts in on the zombies. It's easier to let the rage flow as he hacks at the hungry undead. It's easier than confronting the thought circling the back of his mind.

Danny lied. Danny lied. Danny lied.

The kid shows up around the time things start to get tight. He drives someone into one zombie's eye socket and blasts another away with some kind of green fire. It gives Dean the moment he needs to lock the rest inside their vault. 

Then Dean punches him in the face. His fist connects. Danny staggers back, clutching at his nose, but then his eyes go wide.

"The witch didn't summon those, did she?"

"Ya think?!" Dean swings with the weapon. This time the kid dodges cleanly and is running. Dean gives chase.

"Where's Sam?! If I was wrong about this, then—" he cuts himself off, deciding which path to take as it forks. Dean swings again, this time Danny blocks and disarms. Intangibility, Dean realizes, Danny simply just pulled the weapon from his hands. Then he tosses it away. "Dean, where's Sam!?"

The panic looks real. Feels real, Dean can taste it on the air. Can Danny fake that? What would be the point of pretending after he's won?

Dean shakes himself, and points in the direction Sam went. They both run in that direction.

They arrive to see Samhain throw Sam across the room.

"Fright!? What are you doing?" 

Samhain sees them, and Dean is flying backwards. He hits the wall hard.

"Fright! It's me!" Dean blinks and Danny is floating off the ground.

"You should know better," Samhain tells him, "than to use a name unclaimed by one such as me, Phantom."

"That is the name you gave to use!" Danny flies back, joining Dean in a hard impact against the wall.

"No longer!" Samhain shouts.

"No!"

"I am far more than you can ever—" Samhain chokes. Sam stands on the other end of the room, his arm outstretched. His face twisted in struggle. 

Then demonic smoke pours from the man's mouth. It crackles on the ground, Dean sees a glimpse of hellfire before it vanishes. The body Samhain inhabited, crumples to the ground.

---

"Where do you think you're going?" Dean demanded. Danny stands with the motel door half open. 

"There's something I need to do."

"After that? You think you're just walking away?!"

Danny holds the door open for him. Dean looks to Sammy.

"Want me to come too?"

"We'll talk later." Dean decides, because he doesn't want to be sidetracked by a fight with his brother. (And it will probably be a fight.) He walks out, and follows the kid down the street.

Danny pays a trick-or-treater twenty dollars for a plastic costume sword. He steals a jack-o-lantern off someone's porch, and finds a place where they're not likely to be distributed for a while.

"Are you helping, or just waiting to see if you need to shoot me?" Danny asks, there's no threat or demand in it, just weariness.

"What would I do if I was helping?" Dean asked. Danny turned the plastic blade in his hands and started carving into it with his knife. 

"I need a devil's trap." 

"You're summoning a demon?!"

"...Not if this works..."

"Explain."

"They're the same person, Fright Knight and Samhain. But the witch summoned Samhain, pulled his past self to the forefront, and Samhain rejected the new name... maybe, if I summon Fright Knight by his way... maybe it will bring him back?"

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then even if I'm making the trap, you're checking it beforehand."

Dean sighed. If the kid had been his usual joking self, he'd tell him off. But he was solemn, sad, and was etching symbols into cheap plastic like it was a gravestone.  "Can I stop you?"

"No." 

Dean sighed and started drawing. He was always careful with devil's traps. But he paid extra attention to this, he made it as detailed as he was certain of without going back to consult Bobby's books. He checked and rechecked. As Danny made his own circle in mystery sigils around the pentagram. 

"It's ready." He told the kid, who checked his own work. Then he plunged the plastic blade into the pumpkin. He said some words in a language that wasn't Latin, and slowly pulled the blade free.

The blade that emerged was not made of plastic. Dean didn't know what it was made of, but the embedded sigils matched the ones Danny had carved, and its blade looked deadly sharp. Once the entirety of the sword was pulled free, a storm began inside the pentagram.

Samhain had been exorcised from the body he'd possessed earlier. Now trapped without a vessel, he amassed into a roiling black cloud that thrashed against the invisible walls of its binding.

The storm spoke with thunder and static. Danny replied with the cracking of lake ice and the silence of an infinite nothing. 

And Dean understood. 

Rage. 

Betrayal.

Mocking. 

Demand: Return. Return. Return.

Mocking. Destruction's intent. 

Dean sees it. In a year's time, what was Fright Knight's will, will no longer be in transition. People will do as they always do, preparing in joyful tradition for a night celebrating youth and horrors that they do not have to fear. Factories will churn, parents will spend precious dollars or days crafting or both, people will carve into pumpkins and hang cobwebs and plastic imitation corpses— and they will all do so, not with the intent of warding away Halloween's Patron, but with the intent to welcome him. Such power will be Samhain's. There will be ruin unlike any humanity has seen before.

 Fury. Betrayal. 

Plea: Return.

Mocking. 

Acceptance.

"Dean, can I borrow your knife?"

The English words pull him back from... whatever that was, but not quite pulling him free. If he gives him the knife, Danny will have both it, and the sword of unknown power.

He responds with a ground scuff of readying feet,  the fabric rustle of a repositioned gun.

Danny nods, replies with a turn of the sword. He holds it by its blade, holding it out to Dean handle first.

Dean takes it. 

Danny doesn't let go for a moment. "Careful," he warns, "Soulshreader is bound. She will try to return to her master."

Dean tightens his grip on the handle and Danny releases her. Dean pulls the demon killing blade from his belt and hands it over in the same manner.

Danny steps into the circle with Samhain and Dean watches a demon die. 

Danny steps back out of the circle and chokes on his sobs.

[intrepidacious]

time after time [6]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.8k

chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying

a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

six: butterfly effect

Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.

At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.

Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.

So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.

It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.

It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.

"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.

"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"

"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."

He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.

"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."

The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.

You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.

“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”

"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."

Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.

In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.

That was none of his business, though.

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.

"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."

"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"

"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."

You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."

"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."

He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.

Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"

"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."

"Is that what they told you?"

"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."

Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.

"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.

You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."

Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.

What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.

It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.

It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.

A reason to get up in the morning.

*****

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.

The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.

For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?

But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.

You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.

But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.

And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.

Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.

"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.

Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.

You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.

"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.

"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"

You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.

Because you’ve pissed him off now.

"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"

It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.

So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.

His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."

Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"

You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.

"No. How did you get stuck?"

"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.

How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.

"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.

There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"

"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.

He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.

Right. He doesn’t normally do that.

Except he has.

He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.

"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"

You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.

When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.

"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"

His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.

"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.

Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.

Seeing it now, though?

It makes your fingers twitch.

"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."

"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."

The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.

"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.

There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …

"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.

You swallow heavily. "Being noble."

Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."

He’s beautiful.

It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?

But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?

So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.

The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …

And yet.

His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.

Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?"

You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.

"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.

"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."

There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"

And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.

You have to do this alone.

Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.

"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."

"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.

Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.

"Promise."

He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.

That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.

***

There’s been a change in the weather.

Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.

But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.

"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.

"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"

Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.

"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.

The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.

You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.

But this …

It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.

"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.

"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"

"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.

"You know what I mean."

"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.

Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"

Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.

"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."

And just like that, you’re back on track.

Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."

It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.

You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.

The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.

So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.

It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.

Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.

You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.

"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."

"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.

"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."

"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.

"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."

Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."

"Aren’t I?"

You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"

The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.

Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.

If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.

You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"

"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"

"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"

Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.

"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."

Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.

Useless.

You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.

"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.

"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.

Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.

"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.

Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."

"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.

"Try that again, less convincing?"

"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"

Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"

You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."

You don’t, though.

It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.

***

Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.

You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.

"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.

"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"

He shrugs. "For a walk."

You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"

"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"

Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."

Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.

The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"

Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"

"So? I like coffee."

"Really. I never knew."

"Screw you."

You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.

You miss his eyes.

Why won’t you look at me?

When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.

"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"

"Early." You blink.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."

You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.

"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."

"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"

His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.

When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.

It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.

Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.

"Are you off or on break?" you call over.

She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."

"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."

Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."

Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.

You blink. "My shadow."

"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"

"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.

"Not that old."

"No," you agree, "not that old."

For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.

Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.

Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."

You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.

The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."

"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.

So is hers.

"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.

You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."

"You feel like or you know?"

"Isn’t that the same thing?"

"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.

"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.

"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."

"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."

"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."

Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.

She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.

***

Time passes while it’s standing still.

The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.

It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.

Which you’re getting better at.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Rinse and repeat.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

"You look like shit."

Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.

"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

You almost smile. "Like what?"

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"

Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.

"Did I?"

"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."

Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?

It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.

"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.

"Doing what?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."

Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."

Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."

So you do.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.

You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.

Or maybe it’s dread.

"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.

You blink, sitting upright. "What?"

"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."

Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.

"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.

Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."

You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.

"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."

"Stop it!"

An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.

Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.

"You cannot keep this up."

"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"

"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."

Do as I tell you.

"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."

"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"

You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"

"And there it is."

You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.

The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."

"I didn’t—"

"Answer the question."

"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.

"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"

He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."

You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.

"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."

"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."

"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."

"That’s not true."

"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."

You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."

"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."

"And what’s seeing him going to do?"

You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.

"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.

Then, you walk through the closed door.

You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.

With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.

You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.

Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.

Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.

"Changed your mind?"

You glance into the room.

At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.

Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.

Try the floor.

You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.

"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.

"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."

"Would he remember if I did?"

"I don’t know."

You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."

You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.

Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.

"You feel better?" Strange asks.

"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."

"What was?"

"Just …"

Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.

Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.

How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.

And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.

You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.

"Did I do something?" you say quietly.

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."

You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.

When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.

He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.

The door clicks shut.

"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.

"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.

***

Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.

You can cling to that.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.

"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."

"Fair point," you concede.

It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.

"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."

It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."

She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."

"You used to have bangs?"

"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."

You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."

"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."

"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"

You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

It is.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."

"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.

"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."

"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."

"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."

"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."

"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."

You know.

Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.

It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.

So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"

"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.

Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.

"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.

"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.

"There you are."

You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.

He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.

"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.

You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.

You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."

You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"

He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.

So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.

"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"

He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."

And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.

Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."

"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."

"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.

"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."

"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."

"I don’t trust her," you mutter.

"And yet the cat’s the weird one."

"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."

"There’s pie?" Bucky says.

"Not for you!"

You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.

That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.

Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.

Again and again and again and a—

"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"

You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.

Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.

You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.

"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.

Liar, liar, liar.

***

At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.

You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …

"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.

Not yet.

He got shot again yesterday.

A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."

You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"

"Today is Friday, July 4th."

You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.

What did you expect?

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"

"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.

He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."

That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.

"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.

"You wish."

Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.

"You look like shit."

Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.

"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"

"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"

Not this again.

"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"

"Alright," he says.

And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.

But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.

There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.

I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.

That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.

In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.

"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.

"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."

"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."

"But if I could prevent it—"

"It already happened."

"I can make it not happen."

"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."

"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.

Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."

He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.

Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"

"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"

"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."

"No one ever feels ready until they try."

And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.

The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.

When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.

"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.

Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.

You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.

The band around your wrist does the same.

"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.

Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.

The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.

You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.

There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.

I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.

You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.

"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"

Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.

You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.

You’re all alone.

***

Three, two, one—

"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"

You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."

He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.

You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.

The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.

"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"

Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.

Strange still hasn’t returned.

The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.

It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.

"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.

The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.

Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.

"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."

But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.

Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.

Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.

Bucky still mumbles in his.

You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.

You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.

Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.

And she’s staring right at you.

You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.

A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.

"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.

The cat meows in disappointment.

Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.

She rubs against your palm.

You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."

Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.

This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.

So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.

And then you wait until he gets up.

It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.

It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.

Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.

In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.

You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.

Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.

But what else can you do?

You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.

That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.

Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.

Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.

That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.

The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.

Nothing else will.

There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.

"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.

"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.

If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—

"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"

You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.

You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.

Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."

You smile. "Good for you."

"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"

And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"

You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.

The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.

"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

*****

"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.

"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.

"Not at all."

Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.

You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.

"Are you gonna move any time soon?"

Well. Mostly.

At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.

With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.

You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.

It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers’ previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.

While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.

Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.

"You almost done in here?"

"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"

Bucky pointed over his shoulder.

"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.

Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"

"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"

"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.

"Time’s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.

You didn’t even make it to the staircase.

"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"

No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.

You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.

"What?" Bucky said.

"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.

"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.

Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.

You should’ve eaten more.

As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.

You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.

Not good enough.

Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.

A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.

It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.

Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.

"—d’you—see that—"

"—could’ve—sworn there—”

And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.

chapter seven

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[somethin-human]

My Darlin’/Tank headcanons

(Forgive me, I am feeling gross and congested so if sentences sound weird, that’s probably why lol bc my brain has stopped working)

They have naturally super white looking hair, but dyed the underneath layer black

Idk if this is considered a headcanon but like they genuinely have no idea how to cook. They know how to heat up things in a microwave, but like if not that, then they’re completely lost.

They are the cuddly type when they are drunk or sick.

Whenever they wake up from a nap (that Sam forced them into), they’re shift and do a big stretch.

Addition to that, they’re also do that thing that dogs do sometimes and nudge their snout to Sam’s butt (like the side of it) and it always makes Sam giggle.

Sam and Darlin’ still haven’t gone on a proper date. Not for any particular reason, they just don’t really find it necessary and just chill at home and watch movies.

When they broke up with Quinn, they chopped off all their hair with a knife. Not even with scissors, a whole ass knife. And their hair looked super choppy but cool looking.

When their hair grew back out, Angel was the one to fix it up a little bit.

Sam has a basement that he never used but when Darlin’ moved in, they turned it into a gym because they took a liking to boxing.

They still have an iPhone 4, and they completely shattered the screen but it still works completely fine. Sam and William have INSISTED on getting them a new phone but they always turn it down. (Is this a self insert? Probably? But thankfully I don’t have an iPhone 4 anymore… now I have a 6s 😩)

They did have a gender crisis when they were a younger teen, but then decided to just go with whatever.

Anarchist

Sometimes David asks if they would want to be a part of a gig and sometimes they say yes, but David always plans for them not to show up until an hour after they’re supposed to be there.

They’re complete ass at Minecraft, but they play with the other mates because why not.

There’s a cliff in the forest that surrounds their and Sam’s cabin and sometimes when they feel “eh”, they’ll just sit near it and watch the birds.

If they’re terrified of anything, it’s thunder.

They’re really good at quickly calming their panic attacks because they’re scared of being vulnerable and hate crying in front of people.

They have stollen several flannels from Sam.

Sweetheart got them a weighted blanket and it’s their favorite thing.

Sam bought them a stuffed animal. They said it was cute, in like a “oh, yeah, thanks” kind of way, but whenever he comes home from a clan meeting, he finds them curled up with his pillow and the stuffed animal.

(I have more, but this is what y’all are getting)

[chiisana-sukima]

@nosammycomeon I moved here so I could go more in depth.

He didn't actually say the writers' room was writing destiel--afaik none of the writers has ever said that explicitly (although it's obvious which writers in the late seasons were in fact doing it, even without explicit confirmation). He said some stuff in a Then and Now additional patreon content interview question that got interpreted in a way he felt he needed to go back and clarify, which is what the tweets are for. The Then and Now content is supposed to be private for patreon subscribers only, but fortunately for clarity's sake, information wants to be free.

You can really see here how the complexity of communication makes everything Worse. Something I've noticed as an autistic person who sometimes finds communication difficult and pretty much always finds lying infuriating is that people in general have a relaxed view of facts. When someone makes [bald statement X] about almost any relatively nuanced topic, [bald statement X] is usually a stand in for a whole big set of information not formally in the communication that the listener is supposed to just understand the speaker means through context. But unfortunately everyone's understanding of any given context is different, so then often the speaker thinks they have communicated [huge set of context about X] but the listener thinks they have communicated [different huge set of context about X]. This is further complicated by the fact the speaker may be intentionally lying about [X], but it's often hard to know one way or the other, and by the fact that sometimes the speaker isn't lying, but doesn't themself understand what they actually believe the context of the statement they made to be.

Here, Edlund is pretty clearly saying as [bald statement X] only that in The End, Cas is ride or die for Dean and he got a note to change the wording because it was too obvious to be good writing. He was taken by some destiel fans to mean that he got a note to change the line because it made it too obvious that Cas was gay for Dean. This is clearly not actually what he said. BUT. To me, both Edlund's bald statement and the subsequent interpretative statements by destiel shippers are probably standing in for a lot of context that fandom is split on.

Cas' decisions in The End are honestly pretty extreme for platonic devotion. I mean, me, an aro, might be that devoted to someone platonically. And me, an aro, values highly the emphasis spn put on platonic devotion throughout the length of its run. To me, the context in spn is always 'yes these people are all platonically insane for each other'.

But lets be honest here, most alloromantic people are not used to thinking about devotion this way, and do not have it as a floating ball of context about spn or about life in general. They have the different floating ball of context that people only do this weird shit for each other if they are romantically in love. In the many cases of Sam and Dean's excessively devoted decision-making, spn uses the excuse that they are brothers (like that somehow explains it all. huge Lisa knows moment, i would not fucken do all that for my sibling).

But with Cas in The End, they don't even have that excuse. Cas just... gives up his entire family, his home in Heaven, his identity as an angel, destroys himself with drugs and cheap sex over the pain of simping for someone who no longer has the capacity to care for him, and then is all 'yep, I'll let you use me as meat-grinder bait without even the courtesy of telling me first'. And not to be all 'there's no platonic explanation for this' but given that it did indeed turn out that Cas canonically has been pining romantically for Dean in the main universe too and doing dumb sacrificial stuff because of it on the regular, and that most alloromantic people don't do world-ending platonic devotion, I think its very reasonable to assume that the destiel shippers are assuming that Edlund's bald statement about "its bad writing to be that obvious" includes the context "its bad writing to be that obvious about Cas being in love with Dean". And I think it's even quite reasonable to assume they are right and that was the context Edlund was speaking from within. His later clarifications don't imo negate that, because they all come with context we may or may not know too. Here is a post where the OP calls out some of that possible context. They are absolutely right imo that contending that Cas' speech in 15x18 could have been platonic reeks of corporate bullshit and impeaches any similar statements about other episodes considerably.

Meanwhile though, it's also true that Edlund didn't say anything explicitly about Cas being in love with Dean in The End and it is also reasonable to take people at their word. Spn really was primarily about platonic devotion. So of course people with a more platonically-minded set of conceptual assumptions will take the context as being "I said what I said and I meant it and nothing else", and they aren't actually necessarily wrong or acting in bad faith imo either. Because who tf knows what Edlund meant; we are all just isolated brains out here floating in our individual meatsuits and having confusing-ass, shit communication.

it's so obvious they knew all along that people shipped it… can't believe anyone would say otherwise.

So like, here's the other side of the destiel fans assuming a bunch of context that may or may not be the context that was intended. When people say "the writers didn't know about destiel", they can't mean it literally. Obviously the writers knew at latest by s10, because they acknowledge it on screen in Fan Fiction. But I think the ball of context around this is not unreasonable either. I think when people say this, the listener is supposed to understand that what they mean is "well of course the writers have heard about fan ships through the grapevine or whatever, but they never took any of that, including destiel, seriously. They never paid it much mind. Maybe they did some fanservice/cheap pandering once in a while, but they never meant it. They never queerbaited and they never intended us to take it seriously."

And while I think the evidence points to this not being the case, I do also think it's a reasonable position. The powers that be really have said multiple times over many years that "destiel doesn't exist", that they'd never heard of it, that "we don't pay any attention to what the fans are saying or change story elements based on what the fans want" (my google fu is failing me for that last one atm, but various writers and showrunners have said this multiple times), etc. The last one at least is CLEARLY a blatant, outright lie once you know enough bts information, but you can't blame people for believing it. These are professional liars; lying believably is their job. That people who believe them and are invested in a platonic reading of the show and often are-- not coincidentally--irritated at destiel shippers' insistence on reading thing (including sometimes ridiculous things) romantically would then go on to be impolitic/imprecise in their language on twitter or their personal blogs is pretty much just human nature.

[jezmmart]

Chamomile Comic Trivia #31

#159 - Notice

It's Sam! I wish I had written down more about my decision to add her, although at this point I'm fairly sure I wasn't certain she was going to become a main character - in fact it was RIGHT around the week this posted that I began work on the first proper cover art for the series which of course did not include her.

Her design was based off this old one-off pin-up girl art from 2017, technically making her the first ever major Chamomile Comic character to exist, sort of.

She was named after Sam Lloyd, likely known for his portrayal of Ted the Lawyer from Scrubs. The news of his death had recently broken and I had just recently begun listening to Fake Doctors, Real Friends, the Scrubs rewatch podcast, as my go-to background entertainment when colouring the comic specifically each week. It still is now, albeit intermittently since they don't always produce an episode each week and I no longer have a backlog to catch up on. Now granted, I don't love the podcast as much as I used to - can be a bit cringey at times as these two hollywood actors chat about utterly unrelatable anecdotes from their lives - but it's overall been enjoyable and it'll be weird to find something new to accompany my colouring if it does come to an end or stops being enjoyable once they permanently pivot into... whatever they plan to do after they run out of Scrubs episodes. It's been part of my colouring process for the comic for longer than it hasn't been now, haha. So... yeah it felt right to honour that connection to my comic with Sam's name, on top of the fact that Scrubs is just straight-up one of my favourite TV shows and Ted was always a character that gave me big laughs.

Of course... I realised after that I'd introduced yet another character to the comic ending in "-a"! ...But whatever, it's a common thing. Not so long ago I had 5 co-workers simultaneously whose names also ended in -a, lol.

The decision to have had her always be around simply came from not having any strong ideas to introduce her and preferring the idea that at least some of the cast already knew her. The gag's been done before, but I thought it'd be extra funny to introduce her with a scene in which she is specifically announcing her departure from being a regular face in Cammie's life, which typically would mean the same for the audience in most works with actually established characters.

Final little bonus note - in panel 1, Cammie once again is entering with a handful of steaming coffee.

#160 - Official

I didn't really mean for it to be so small it's barely legible at web size, but the little sign on the panic alarm button behind the till says "Real emergencies only Cammie!", in reference to #50.

#161 - Before

All that Scrubs talk regarding Sam is kinda fitting, because they did the "this character was always here!" gag there too. For their one, they edited her in on various memorable shots and pretended the main character didn't notice her being present, here I obviously extended the frame on the end of several punchline panels from previous comics.

Here's a gif that shows the original panels compared to the new ones, showing both the new and old art isolated as well so you can see exactly what I drew to extend the older panels which naturally weren't drawn originally knowing that I would one day be extending them!

The second of the three Sam flashbacks is just a nice little bridging one, but it did take me a while to decide for sure which way around I wanted the first and third flashback panel. For the first: while there's been a little bit of mild bad language in the comic once the seal was broken here, Sam's "bitch" is the first time such language has appeared so it amused me to place it in a scene that has already happened long ago just barely outside of the audience's perspective. For the third: the joke is of course that the reveal of Sam's additional dialogue is particularly adding nothing to the scene whatsoever - like, as if Cammie making a fool of herself would even be remark-worthy at this point. I felt both these two goofs had a good punch to them in their own way so yeah, I remember being conflicted over whether I had chosen the funniest possible flow of these three gags.

Of course, the final joke of this one, in case it wasn't obvious (I could see it being subtle for some), is that Mimi's whole running gag is she's a side character who also has existed in the comic for long before her first on-screen appearance, yet Cammie never remembers her.

#162 - New

The art and dialogue structure of the first two panels here is identical to #160. I think it being a time-saver on my workload for the week was definitely a factor - for whatever reason I needed it at the time - but I also remember going for something with that choice beyond just that... But I can't for the life of me remember what. I don't think the parallel between the two comics adds anything reading them back now.

Anyway here's Newt! I really thought at the time that he was going to be as significant an addition as Sam, and I did come up with the idea of introducing a regular male character at the time I chose to bring Sam in, with Sam's introduction - and exit - being an amusing way to introduce a surprise new character.

...Then I proceeded to never really get any super strong story ideas for him lol. More detail on that in a second. I haven't forgotten him though, frustrates me that he keeps getting sidelined!

#163 - Training

Standard behind-the-scenes retail frustration humour here. I can neither confirm nor deny how much is based on my current employment. A little detail of authenticity/flavour is that they're watching a DVD intended for widescreen on an old non-widescreen TV that's clearly been in their staff room for at least a decade. Such was the case for my painful training videos too! (It's all online now as of a few years into when I started, so some progress has been made I guess).

#164 - Huh

It's not made clear yet, but the new status quo that Sam is a receptionist at a primary school is established here - the coloured hanging letter signage on the wall that is too perspective'd to read says "WELCOME TO OUR SCHOOL".

I chose this as a job for her based simply on the fact that my Mum has often worked in school offices for most of my life. She wasn't a receptionist but it was the sort of job where I have some... vague enough memories of the "behind-the-scenes" enough to draw something along those lines when I needed to show Sam at work.

Getting back to Newt, obviously the goof here is that Cammie is just being a sore loser about her friend leaving and Newt is about the most cool-sounding interesting person you could imagine meeting. Unfortunately that involved specifically coming up with fun sounding stuff that are not super common to do or know people that do, so despite the super interesting combo of cave-diving, stand-up and polyamory these are all things I feel like I'd have to do thorough research on to represent in the actual comic accurately... which is something I'd like to do but, time is finite and I have so much pre-existing experience with being a silly nonsense person. Would you believe it, there's another character in the comic for whom that experience lends itself very well!!

Speaking of whom, the first appearance of the bell on the door in Repeat 1 Records was only a month after Cammie got the job. She works fast!

[Trivia Archive | Browse from most recent]

[five-rivers]

Life's Great Lie 13

AO3

Lake Eerie wasn’t a random choice.  In addition to being close enough for the GAV to make the trip, if things did go as badly as Sam thought they would, the lake provided a way to escape ground-bound pursuit, and even a temporary respite from enemies in the air. 

It wasn’t widely advertised –because Jazz’s parents didn’t have much opportunity to use it, rather than any desire to keep it secret – but the Ops Center’s carriage could be safely submerged underwater, and even had rudimentary maneuvering capability. 

If that failed… well, Lake Eerie was a thin spot.  Walker’s second incursion was proof of that.  Not to mention the vicious lake monster.  Jazz hoped that SHIELD’s lack of experience with ghosts would make finding them in the woods if they had to flee that way. 

Or, if they got really desperate, they could use the porta-portal or the bazooka.  Try their luck in the Ghost Zone. 

Jazz hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

The (Fentonworks New and Improved!) radar pinged at about the same time the wireless connection to the GAV came online. 

“So…” said Sam, “I’ll go out, you keep an eye on things in here.”

Jazz nodded, leaning forward to peer out the window in the direction the jet was supposed to come.  So far, she couldn’t see it. 

Considering the way the ‘helicarrier’ had been cloaked, that didn’t mean anything.  She looked back down at the radar.   

“The SHIELD guys should be here first if this is accurate,” she said. 

“Great.  Be ready to take arrow boy hostage.”

“I’ve told you my name,” complained arrow boy.  “I’ve even told you my code name.  You don’t have to call me that.”

Sam snorted and looked over her shoulder on her way out.  “Whatever you say, arrow boy.”

.

“Hey,” said Tucker, without preamble, “remind me what Danny had us take again.”

Sam glanced behind him at the small crowd.  Tony Stark was a lot shorter in person than he looked on TV.  Dr. Banner – a surprisingly common face in Casper High science lessons – was frowning down at a large, screened box in his hands.  Captain America was… Well, it was kind of weird to see the guy who rescued your great-grandparents from death or worse.  She might not exist without him.  Thor was practically indescribable.  What did you even say about a guy like that?  The only woman, who must be Romanov, Black Widow, stayed by their plane, leaning against one of the door supports in a way that looked casual but was anything but.  Valerie stood slightly apart, her suit retracted for the moment, glaring at everyone.

“I think it’s fine,” said Tucker.  “All things considered.”

“All things considered,” repeated Sam. 

“A bunch of the spare portal parts.  The porta-portal.  Shields, for both humans and ghosts.  The ecto-converter.  Some other random parts I can’t remember.  Not anything we usually work with.  Jazz knew what it was.”

Tucker nodded.  “Okay, yeah.  I think I know what he wanted us to do with all of this.”

“So do I,�� said Sam.

“I got kidnapped,” pointed out Tucker. 

“We didn’t kidnap you,” said Romanov. 

“You kind of did.”

“Jazz got shot,” countered Sam.

“Speaking of which, where is Barton?”

Sam pointed.  “Inside.”

“Not like him to not come out.”

“That’s because he’s still tied up,” said Sam.  “We wanted to make sure you weren’t going to come guns blazing.  Or with your giant spaceship thing.”

“Well,” said Stark, loudly, “we thought that would be kind of a bad idea with all the spies—Sorry, the spies that were spying on the spies.”

Captain America pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Do you ever stop?”

“Hey, you should be thanking me.  I just—”

“You have no idea what HYDRA is capable of.”

“Um,” said Tucker.  “Can we go in?”

“Yeah, no,” said Sam.  “We’re waiting for someone else.”

“Oh, no,” said Tucker.  “Come on, did you guys really--?”

“Yeah,” said Sam.  “We needed backup.”

“And what am I?”

“Down a staff, it looks like.”

Tucker shot a glare at Romanov.

“You’re not getting it back until I see Barton.  Speaking of equipment, boys, I don’t see anywhere to park our bus on that thing, so you’d better help unload.”

“Can you—Actually, I’m getting a lot of weird readings on this thing—”

“I’m telling you, man, it’s the ectoplasm.”

Banner frowned slightly at Tucker and looked back at his machine even as he wandered back to the jet.  “Gamma radiation makes much more sense.”

“Does it, though?” asked Tucker.  “I mean, like.  Your whole everything…  Radiation shouldn’t really do that.”

“He’s got a point there,” said Tony Stark as he hauled a set of boxes out on a hand trolley.  “The whole… Hulking out thing.  Doesn’t seem to follow conservation of matter—Have you looked into that?”

“In between running from jingoistic lunatics, sure.”

The sound of an engine made everyone turn.  The GAV rounded the corner a few minutes later, turning so sharply that it almost tipped over.  Seconds later, it narrowly missed hitting the jet and pancaking Stark and Banner and disgorged Jack and Maddie, waving guns.

.

The thing was, Sam, Tucker, and even Valerie, to some extent, were used to the Fentons’ antics.  Stark and Banner were not.  Banner, as they had just been discussing, had superpowers activated by adrenaline and an elevated heartrate.  Anger was the main trigger, but fear… Fear worked too. 

It looked like Sam would get to say ‘I told you so’ a lot earlier than she’d thought. 

.

“How often do human… teenagers… have to sleep?”

“Hm?” asked Selvig, dropping the small component he’d been handling with tweezers.  He swore and dove after it. 

“I suppose I should ask how frequently adult humans need to sleep, instead,” said Loki with a sneer and a roll of his eyes. 

“Well,” said Selvig with a chuckle, “usually we try to sleep once a day.  Eight hours is the recommended amount.  But, heh, you know, academics, we don’t really follow the rules, you know?  You know.  Right?  I mean, you’re up there in space and all… Do they have academics in space?”

“Arguably,” said Danny, “all astronauts are academics of some sort or another.  Scientists, right?  Although, the earlier ones were military, so I suppose they weren’t.  But I guess the question is more about whether or not Loki’s people have academics.  Do you have academics?”

Loki turned slightly to look at the boy incredulously.  Danny blinked back up at him.

“Don’t—” Loki cut himself off before he could say something that could be construed as an order and looked back at Selvig who was trying to lower a piece of equipment into a padded carrying case but kept missing the hole in the shaped ‘styrofoam.’  “How often do teenagers need to sleep?”

“About the same?” said Selvig vaguely.  “I think they’re supposed to get more to stay healthy, but I’ve never had children.  Unless you count my students!  Ha!”  He finally got the part into the Styrofoam hole and smiled triumphantly at Loki.  “Fits like a glove!”

Danny leaned forward to peer at the box.  Loki pushed him back. 

Loki could care less about any of his thralls staying healthy, but he needed them to at least last long enough to get his army.  To get the chitauri.  His staff could not keep them awake indefinitely.  Eventually, their endurance would wane and fail.  Or so he had been told. 

The staff, like the army, was a loaner. 

It matched with the rules of magic he was familiar with, however.  No spell was perfect or unbreakable, no matter how powerful the focus, and the realm of dreams was… strange. 

That was the only reason for his concern.  No other. 

“You could always let us sleep, if you’re so worried,” said Danny. “How often do your people need to sleep?  Asgardians, right?  Or are you an Asgardian if you’re adopted?  I mean, you and Thor look alike, but then you guys look like humans, too, and that’s not what I would have expected from aliens, overall.”

Loki rolled his eyes.  Danny was evidently one of those aggravating people who became more talkative with fatigue.  “My father sleeps once a year.”  Well.  The Odinsleep happened once a year.  And Loki was technically a Jotun, not an Asgardian.  But that hardly mattered.  Loki did not need to sleep.  He was not tired.  He had no desire to close his eyes and see—

“Is that your actual dad, or, like, your biological dad?”

Gods did not groan.

.

Jazz seriously hoped they didn’t need anything on that jet, because it didn’t look remotely salvageable after that. 

“Hey!” called Barton.  “What’s going on out there?”

Jazz was having enough trouble trying to trigger the right controls with only one hand.  She didn’t answer.  Could she--?  No, the Ops Center portal generator didn’t work that way.  She couldn’t punch the coordinates for that.  What she could do, however…

She hit the activation button, and the shield sprang into being with the Hulk on one side and everyone else on the inside, Captain America’s shield ding­-ing off the shield in a way that resonated loudly enough to hurt Jazz’s ears.  The Hulk ran into the shield at full speed and rebounded, stumbling back into the lake.  He roared, clearly furious.  Ripples spread across the water. 

… And the Lake Eerie Monster rose from the depths. 

The Hulk whirled and leapt at the new combatant.  The fight sent water splashing, huge waves breaking over the shore.  Jazz hissed, adjusting the shield to keep the water out.  How much air did they have?  Jazz couldn’t remember how much air a person needed.  It was probably enough for at least a little while. 

The fight was impressive.  Jazz could say that even after watching Danny fight so often.  It was also incredibly brutal.  There was no finesse, no form, and there didn’t need to be.  The sheer physical power of the combatants made it redundant. 

She couldn’t help but think that Danny could beat both of them. 

The lake flared with light, visible even through the green-tinted ectoplasmic shield.  When the light cleared, both the ghost and the surprisingly ghost-like man were gone.

“Hey!  Whoa, whoa, whoa!  What was that?  Where’d Banner go?” shouted Iron Man, audible through the external PA system, which meant that he really had to be shouting, because that thing sucked.

Jazz hissed through her teeth.  She hadn’t caused this situation, but she’d certainly been involved in sending one of the preeminent scientific minds of the century to the Ghost Zone.  Not as bad as killing him, sure, but there it was. 

This was a bad day.  This was a bad, bad day. 

[tenebraevesper]

Five Nights at Freddy's: Nothing Remains, Night 16: Beware Of Us

''Recalibrate, the gears and wires. Illuminate, you cannot hide. Let's demonstrate, a new attire. Eradicate, what's left inside. Although you may deny me day, you know I'll find another way inside of you, don't even try to play with the demons inside us. Your time is now, to crawl again. Beware of the souls trapped inside us.''

 – Inside Us by GatoPaint ft. Chi-Chi (Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location)

xXxXxXx

Springtrap stared at the animatronics on the stage, Freddy, Bonnie and Chica, wondering if he could provoke some kind of reaction from them. After all, Puppet did act aggressive when Sam had approached her, with Springtrap figuring that the other animatronics might show some kind of reaction as well.

''Okay, I understand that you have been programmed to act like the Classics, but there is much more to that than just roaming around and murdering everyone you consider an intruder,'' Springtrap said. ''So, can someone explain me what's going on?''

Showtime Freddy, Bonnie and Chica remained standing there like statues, not reacting to his questions at all. Springtrap frowned, feeling annoyed.

''I know that you can hear me and that you understand what I'm saying,'' he grumbled, but once again, there was no reaction. He sighed. ''This feels stupid…''

''I don't think that they are going to do much unless something happens,'' Sam had approached him, having changed into the purple and black Fazbear uniform. ''Speaking of which, I'm surprised that they had lasted a week considering they are at a place where someone might break them, either unintentionally or on purpose. I mean, Mangle didn't even last a week.''

''Actually, Mangle didn't even last a few days. The kids absolutely hated the animatronic, as she replaced their beloved Foxy,'' Springtrap explained. ''It's kind of disappointing that Fazbear Entertainment gave up so soon on Mangle instead of trying to do something about it.'' He gave her a bitter smile. ''Not that I cared about it at the time.''

''I'm not surprised,'' Sam replied. ''After all, you were trying to survive the week there without any additional help. Although, tampering with the animatronics wasn't your best idea.''

''Well, it did work, at least for a while,'' Springtrap replied, with Sam rising an eyebrow.

''It only worked because you weren't the one dealing with them, leaving them to another night guard, as well as every adult they came across, so they would be the ones to handle them,'' Sam told him, with Springtrap giving her a sheepish look.

''I am aware of that,'' Springtrap said, then glanced back at the animatronics on the stage. ''Speaking of which, I'm certainly not done dealing with the Showtime Animatronics. I know that there is a lot more to them and I want to figure out what exactly is going on here and what Fazbear Entertainment had done with them.''

''Don't tell me that you're planning to take them apart to study every component of their endoskeletons,'' Sam said. Springtrap shook his head.

''I don't think that there is any need for that,'' Springtrap replied, remembering the immobile endoskeleton Connor had created. Even though it was just a machine, it looked as if it was suffering. He shuddered, knowing how that felt, as he spent about 30 years confined to a small room being unable to move. ''I know from experience that it would be better to treat them with a little more care than pretend that they're emotionless machines. Besides, we don't even know what they're capable of. I'd rather be careful around them, but that still doesn't mean that I won't continue questioning what's going on here or trying to get some kind of reaction. This whole thing just feels suspicious.''

''Hopefully, we'll get some kind of answer,'' Sam muttered. ''You know that that kid said that they felt something weird about the animatronics. Maybe you are having the same sensation?''

''It is possible, but this isn't just some kind of gut feeling,'' Springtrap explained. ''Every time I look at them, I feel as if they are aware of what is going on, as if they know who I am.''

''That's kind of scary, but you know that we've been talking about you the whole time, so it isn't that surprising that, if they were indeed aware of what was going on, they would know that you are a spirit haunting animatronic,'' Sam pointed out. She narrowed her eyes. ''However, if you are this worried, we are just going to stay careful. I mean, I'm not sure whether to trust those animatronics, especially after Puppet's reaction, but if they wanted to harm us, they would've already done it.''

''True,'' Springtrap replied, glancing back at the stage, with the animatronics still staring ahead blankly. He clenched his fist, staring at them, feeling uneasy. After what Anthelm had revealed to us about Fazbear Entertainment and the animatronics… While they might not be haunted, there certainly is something wrong about them, but what is it? Also, what was up with that re-used code that had been brought up in the documents? After all, Henry had destroyed every animatronic tied to Freddy's dark history, including me, Elizabeth, Molten Freddy and the animatronic his own daughter, Charlie, had possessed. Not to mention, even if Fazbear Entertainment got their hands on the Nightmare Animatronics, the only ones that had survived Henry's purge, I sincerely doubt that they would use their programming for the Showtime Animatronics. So, what exactly is going on?

He shook his head, with Sam giving him a concerned look.

''I know that I'm missing something,'' he said, only to feel Sam tugging his arm and noticed her holding her hand, giving him a confident look.

''We'll figure it out together,'' she told him. ''I'm sure that there is an answer to this mystery.''

''You're right,'' he replied, stroking her hair. ''Besides, we have other things to worry about, don't we?''

''Yeah, I know,'' Sam said. ''We need to deal with Connor, but aside from the fact that he was responsible for what happened at Ricky's, we have no idea where to search for him.''

''Either we will find him or he will find us,'' Springtrap said. ''Regardless of how things go, we need to put an end to him.'' Sam nodded, with Springtrap tilting his head. ''Is there something else that bothers you?''

''I know that it kind of sounds stupid, but there's what Tessa told me...'' Sam admitted. ''However, considering the current situation, I don't think-'' She stared at Springtrap in surprise when he grabbed her hands, giving her an intense and concerned look. ''I guess that I shouldn't just ignore my own problems.''

''Exactly,'' Springtrap replied. ''Now, what exactly had she told you?''

''Well, as I had already told you, she was angry that I had disregarded her feelings about the whole prank call, called me self-absorbed and demanded an apology for putting her through that,'' Sam said, feeling annoyed as she remembered the whole interaction. She sighed. ''However, what stuck with me was that she said that I was at fault here because I was being anti-social and that's why no one wants to be friends with me.''

''She's wrong, and you know it,'' Springtrap told her. ''You are a wonderful, caring person, who simply had the bad luck of being used by selfish people. I don't think that we would be here if you were really the person that Tessa describes you as.''

''Thanks,'' Sam replied, smiling. ''I simply told myself that I don't need to be around toxic people like her and that I already have a friend who cares about me – you.'' She hugged him. ''Honestly, I'm incredibly happy that you are here for me and I wouldn't change anything about this relationship.''

''Neither would I…'' Springtrap muttered as he hugged her back. However, the sting of guilt had returned, with him feeling that he could've done much more for her. It may have been partly because he cared a lot about Sam, but also partly because he had never done the same for Michael, Sammy and Elizabeth. If I could've just done something differently…

''Will?'' Sam was a little surprised when Springtrap put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a determined look.

''Everything will be fine, I promise,'' he told her, his eyes glowing in a faint purple.

''William, what's wrong?'' Sam asked him worriedly, with Springtrap lowering his head.

''I'm the one at fault and I honestly wish that there is a lot more that I could do than this,'' he admitted. ''Not only for you, but for Mike, Sammy and Lizzy as well.''

''I understand,'' Sam muttered. She knew that William was deeply regretting what he had done to his children and that he wanted to make amends, but was also aware that that wasn't possible. Even if he tried to hide how he felt about it, it became soon obvious what was going through his head. While Sam knew that it was up to Michael, Sammy and Elizabeth whether they would want to forgive their father or not, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She knew that he was quite desperate at this point, but he had no hope left for any redemption and had to accept that nothing he does would change anything. It was surprising that he didn't go insane from all that stress. ''Will, you know that I appreciate your efforts and I know that you're doing your best to make me happy. You may think that it's not enough, but you have done more for me than you think. I mean, just talking to me was enough, but you went beyond that. You genuinely care about my opinions, you put my desires above yours and you try to teach me new stuff. You were also completely honest with me about your past and your intentions. Aside from my parents, I couldn't imagine anyone else to act like that towards me. So, if you ever feel like this, as if you hadn't done everything you could for me, keep in mind what I had told you.''

''I will,'' Springtrap nodded, with Sam giving him a mischievous look and then booping his nose. Springtrap was startled at first, only to give her an annoyed look, but then he smiled. ''You really love doing that?''

''Obviously,'' Sam replied, chuckling.

xXx

Drawkill Freddy frowned, pointing his arms at the small dark figure in front of him. He could hear the gasoline rushing through the tubes connected to the tanks on his back. However, instead of using the flamethrower he was equipped with, he lowered his arms.

''What's wrong, Freddy?'' Drawkill Foxy asked. ''Aren't you going to burn her to a crisp?''

Drawkill Freddy shook his head.

''It wouldn't be worth it,'' he said, crossing his arms. ''Someone is going to notice the smoke and the smell. We should just leave before someone finds us.''

''If you say so, mate,'' Drawkill Foxy said, shrugging. ''You're in charge.''

''Yeah, but he's not the Boss, but Connor is,'' Drawkill Bonnie added in a sarcastic tone. The other three Drawkills groaned. None of them were happy about being reminded of that fact.

''In any case, Freddy is right,'' Drawkill Chica said. ''I don't think Connor would even care about what we do with with her. He just wanted her gone from the restaurant.''

''Well, then we are done,'' Drawkill Bonnie said. ''Someone will find her, they will search for the perpetrator, but will never figure out how that happened.''

''Yeah,'' Drawkill Freddy muttered, with his companions leaving. He was the last one to leave, staring at the little body of the girl who had been killed by Dahlia.

They didn't go inside previous night, in fear of the idea that the police would be patrolling outside, even though Connor told them that, while they might treat the case as an abduction, he had also overheard, via Dahlia's help, that they suspect that the girl had ran away as she had an argument with her brother, even though the parents insisted that she wouldn't do that. In the end, they decided to go there tonight.

Connor had taken control over Dahlia again, forcing her to unlock the restaurant and leave the girl's corpse at the back, with the Drawkills picking it up and taking it away. When they asked Connor what to do with it, he told them to dispose of it, with the Drawkills wondering whether they should burn their body, so they had figured to bring her as far away from the restaurant as possible, but eventually decided against it. It wasn't worth the hassle.

''So, what are we going to do now?'' Drawkill Bonnie asked Drawkill Freddy as he joined them.

''Obviously, we are going to search for Afton and that girl,'' Drawkill Chica replied instead. ''I mean we've been doing that the entire week, so don't ask stupid questions.''

''It wasn't a stupid question,'' Drawkill Bonnie said as he patted his head with his finger, with Drawkill Chica realizing what he meant.

Drawkill Freddy and Drawkill Foxy nodded, with all of them checking the communication device that allowed Connor to spy on them, turning it off. They stood there for a moment, waiting for Connor's response, as they knew that he would distort their system in case he didn't want them to sever their only communication method. Luckily, it seemed that he'd leave them alone this time.

''I hate this,'' Drawkill Chica muttered, still feeling anxious.

''All of us hate the fact that we had found ourselves in this situation,'' Drawkill Freddy told her. ''Anyways, let's move on.''

xXx

''Hello, hello? Well, it seems as if this is going to be my last message, for now.''

Sam and Springtrap exchanged looks, shrugging.

''You already know what to do and your tasks will remain the same – keeping an eye on the animatronics and repair them in case they break. If something goes wrong, you will report to me directly. Obviously, your animatronic friend is allowed to stay and what you do is not my concern, as long as you don't cause any trouble. If you have any concerns or questions, send me an e-mail or come to me during office hours. I wish you a good night.''

Along with Kylie's voicemail was also Sam's new schedule, which she had downloaded, figuring she'd check it once she returned home.

''I'm surprised that she had acknowledged my existence,'' Springtrap said.

''At least she didn't ask any further questions,'' Sam told him. ''I guess that her attitude towards the situation is that, if it works, leave it alone.''

The two fell silent for a little bit, knowing that they needed to plan their next move. Sam glanced at the stage, noticing the glassy-eyed stare the animatronics had. Even though they looked as if they were inactive, according to Springtrap, they were probably aware of what was going on around them. Rest assured, they were creepy.

''What are you doing?'' Springtrap asked when Sam suddenly got up, with her going towards the stage.

''Well, you wanted to provoke them to get some kind of reaction from them,'' Sam replied. ''Considering how Puppet acted around me, maybe they too are going to show some kind of reaction.''

''I don't think that you should get too close to them,'' Springtrap said, remembering how Puppet had lunged at Sam, grabbing her arm. However, Sam had already gotten on the stage.

''I'll be careful,'' Sam replied, with Springtrap being a bit doubtful. She then turned back towards Freddy, Bonnie and Chica. ''You know, something that makes me curious about the animatronics is the fact that, if they had been programmed them to act like the Classics, then why aren't they walking around, trying to find the night guard and murder him by stuffing him into a suit?''

''Maybe because they know that you aren't the night guard, but the animatronic technician,'' Springtrap replied sarcastically. ''Besides, we both know the actual reason those animatronics were going after the night guard. They were searching for me and, at some point, the spirits' minds had been too deteriorated to distinguish an innocent man from their murderer.''

''True, but nevertheless, wouldn't the animatronics here exhibit similar behavior if they were programmed to act like the Classics?'' Sam asked. ''If anything, they would at least roam through the restaurant at night.''

''I agree,'' Springtrap said. ''It is possible that they do roam through the restaurant when we aren't here.''

''I guess that you might be ri-AGH!'' Sam stepped back when Freddy suddenly lunged at her, screeching at her. Her stepping backwards caused her to trip on the edge of the stage and fall over.

''Sam!'' Springtrap rushed over, managing to catch her, only for the momentum to knock him to the ground while still holding Sam.

''Owww…'' Sam felt a sting of pain in her lower back, with her and Springtrap sitting on the floor. However, aside from the possible bruise, she was unharmed. She glared at the animatronic who had jumpscared her. ''What the hell was that for, Freddy?!'' The animatronic, however, returned to his usual position after jumpscaring her, acting as if nothing had happened. She and Springtrap exchanged glances. ''I have a feeling that this one was on purpose.''

''Well, I did tell you to not get too close to the animatronics,'' Springtrap told her sarcastically, with Sam taking his remark in stride. The two looked up at the animatronics, with Sam leaning back against Springtrap's chest, her eyes narrowing.

''I assume that this confirms that these animatronics are indeed individuals of their own,'' she said in a dry tone. ''Or at least, that there is indeed a lot more to their programming than it seems.''

''Maybe, but how this is possible remains a mystery,'' Springtrap added, his eyes glowing in a faint purple. ''Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that we won't figure it out, one way or another.''

xXx

The Drawkills stopped walking when they had suddenly heard police sirens. They all exchanged looks, aware of what was going on. Someone had probably find the girl's body, which meant that they didn't have to worry about her fate anymore. They also knew that they would have to stay clear of that area, as people would probably search for whoever dropped her off there.

''Should we go back?'' Drawkill Bonnie asked.

''We still should search this area through,'' Drawkill Freddy said. ''Besides, I don't really want to go back to deal with Connor.''

''Me neither,'' Drawkill Bonnie said, with Drawkill Chica and Drawkill Foxy shaking their heads.

''Then, let's go,'' Drawkill Freddy said, with his companions following him though the empty streets. They knew that they had to keep an eye out for anyone who might see them and that they couldn't just silence any witness forever as the bodies would draw attention. It was already enough that they had to clean up the mess Connor had left and they didn't want to deal with more.

''You know, we could go try to search at Freddy's,'' Drawkill Bonnie said at some point, causing everyone to turn towards him. He shrugged. ''What? It's just a suggestion.''

''We were just surprised that you suggested something sensible for once,'' Drawkill Chica said sarcastically, causing Drawkill Foxy to burst out laughing. Drawkill Freddy grinned too, but he was more reserved than Drawkill Foxy. Drawkill Bonnie groaned.

''Well, it's not my fault that nobody thought of that, not even you, smartass,'' he told Drawkill Chica, with the latter just glaring at him.

''In any case, we could take a look at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza,'' Drawkill Freddy interrupted. ''However, I doubt that we are going to find them there. Our main goal is to find that girl's house, which is where Afton is probably also residing.''

Drawkill Bonnie grinned, glad to hear that Drawkill Freddy accepted his idea. He gave Drawkill Chica a smug look, with the latter just ignoring him, annoyed. The four then went towards Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, making sure to not be seen, especially after they had almost exited into a street which had a police car passing through it. Eventually, they reached the restaurant, scattering around to find a way to see what was inside as there were shutters covering the windows. There was one window that was uncovered, showing them the area with the stage, but the room was pitch-black.

''No one's here, this place is abandoned,'' Drawkill Foxy scoffed, turning to Drawkill Freddy. ''This was just a waste of time, mate.''

''It wasn't really a waste of time,'' Drawkill Freddy told him, with Drawkill Chica and Drawkill Bonnie approaching them. ''Afton is connected to this place, at least according to Connor. So, it is possible that he would return he-aghr!''

He and his companions groaned in pain as they experienced a familiar irritating noise messing their system up, followed by static. They quickly turned their communication devices on.

''What in the hell were you thinking, cutting me off like that?!''

''We hoped that you wouldn't notice,'' Drawkill Bonnie muttered sarcastically, only to cry out in pain as there was another rush of static and noise. He noticed that his system even received an error warning, meaning that he might break down if this continued.

''Don't talk back to me like that,'' Connor replied angrily, only to continue in a calmer tone, ''So, what happened while I was forced to stay out of the loop?''

''Someone has found the body and called the police,'' Drawkill Freddy replied. ''We have also searched through tonight's area, but we haven't found anything.''

''We even checked at Freddy's, but there isn't anything there, Boss,'' Drawkill Foxy added.

''I see,'' Connor muttered. ''You better return back now and I will give you orders for tomorrow.''

The four heard a crackling, assuming that Connor had disconnected his communication device.

''Who wants to bet that he's going to give us the same boring task?'' Drawkill Bonnie asked, only to groan as there was a wave of static that briefly washed over him. He realized that Connor didn't completely disconnect any communication between himself and the Drawkills and that he wasn't tolerating any remarks about his leadership. The four sighed, feeling exhausted and completely done with this whole thing.

''Let's go,'' Drawkill Freddy said, with the rest following him.

xXx

Springtrap closed the door to Sam's room behind him, standing in the hallway. He and Sam had been talking about the animatronics, but they didn't feel as if their conversation was going anywhere, especially since they had no idea what to do about the animatronics unless the animatronics themselves did something. Freddy's jumpscare, while giving them an idea what they were dealing with, didn't really count and they couldn't get the animatronic to react again.

I guess that we will have to be patient about this issue.

He went back to his room, hoping to continue reading the Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince book and try to relax a little. However, before he could do any of that, he noticed Emma suddenly entering his room. He stared at her, surprised.

''What are you-'' he muttered, only to remember that Emma told him that she wanted to talk to him. ''So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?''

''First of all, I want you to keep your voice down so Sam won't hear us,'' Emma told him, with Springtrap giving her an indifferent look.

''Why?'' he asked.

''Sam's 17th birthday is the day after tomorrow,'' Emma said. Springtrap was surprised.

''What?'' he asked. ''Sam didn't tell me anything about it. I mean, she did tell me that her birthday would be this summer, but she never elaborated on it.''

''Believe me, she wouldn't want to elaborate on it,'' Emma said. ''Sam doesn't really care about celebrating her birthday.''

''Why?'' Springtrap asked. ''After all, it is her birthday. Why wouldn't she want to celebrate it?''

''It's a bit of a long story-'' Emma said, only to get cut off by Springtrap.

''Well, I have time,'' he said, only to notice the annoyed look Emma gave him.

''In any case, I assume that you know about Sam's former friends. After all, Sam told me about the prank call,'' Emma said.

''Yeah, I do and trust me, it was just a threat to-'' Springtrap said, only to get cut off by Emma.

''Okay, I know,'' she said, with Springtrap giving her a weird look. ''Anyways, to cut the chase short, when she was still friends with them, she had invited them to her 15th birthday and the party was here at home.'' Emma shook her head. ''Honestly, they were a nightmare to deal with. Whenever Sam wasn't around, I would hear them complain about the food, music, entertainment, and overall, they acted like complete brats, saying how Sam wasn't a good host to them.''

''That's terrible,'' Springtrap said, frowning.

''As said, they never told her anything directly, but whenever I came close to them, they would stop talking and act as if everything was fine, which was really frustrating, especially since I was doing my best to make sure that the whole event wouldn't fall apart for Sam's sake,'' Emma added. ''I think they were trying to hijack the party, or something like that, but once they realized that I wouldn't let them do that, they decided to leave even before we got to cutting the cake.''

''Seriously? So, they basically decided to throw all courtesy out of the window,'' Springtrap said in a dry tone.

''Yes,'' Emma said. ''They claimed that they wanted to continue the party somewhere else and when Sam told them she would go with them, they said that she wasn't invited and left without giving any explanation. Sam was completely crushed.'' Emma sighed. ''Tessa was last to leave, but only because I had confronted her about taking the videogame Aaron had bought for Sam, with Tessa claiming that Sam agreed to borrow her that videogame. I'm pretty sure that, had she left with it, Sam wouldn't have seen her videogame ever again. I never told Sam about the confrontation though, as she already had enough on her mind. However, I'm sure that this is what had contributed to her trying to drop all contact with them.''

''That's just awful,'' Springtrap said, feeling the rage rising inside him. At first, he was shocked to hear that Sam had suffered from such abuse, even though he already knew that Sam's former friends were horrible people, but finding out about this was just the icing on this whole mess. ''The way they treated her is just incredibly messed up. Sam doesn't deserve this.''

''If anything, this was probably the reason why she refused to have a party for her 16th birthday. While I did make her a cake and Aaron had also visited her, she spent the whole day locked up in her room, playing videogames. She did come out in the evening, saying how she felt bad for acting like that, but she didn't feel as if it was necessary to celebrate anything.'' Emma sighed, grumbling. ''Honestly, I wish that I had a talk with those spoiled brats, especially Tessa. After all, she was Sam's childhood friend and they were incredibly close, and at that time, I just wanted to knock some sense into her. However, I guess it's too late for that.''

''So, what do you have in mind for this birthday?'' Springtrap asked. ''I know that you have planned something, and I'd like to know what this has to do with me.''

''Well, I had talked to Sam today and told her that we'd be having a birthday lunch and that Aaron is also going to join us, like every year,'' Emma said. ''What I didn't tell her was that I made a reservation at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.''

''I think she'll be really happy about it,'' Springtrap said, feeling a bit excited about the revelation. ''She loves spending time there, even though her reasons for it are different.''

''Yeah,'' Emma said, narrowing her eyes. ''Speaking of which, when I arranged this, I talked to the manager, Kylie Anthelm, and she was surprised to hear that Sam was my daughter and we had a bit of a talk, where she told me that she was actually happy with Sam's work, despite the circumstances during which she had hired her.''

''I see,'' Springtrap muttered, giving Emma a sheepish look. He really didn't want to know what exactly Anthelm and Emma were talking about. ''So, essentially, Sam's having a birthday lunch at Freddy's and it's a surprise for her, so I should keep quiet about it. Fine, but I have a feeling that there's something else you want to tell me.''

''Yeah, there is – it's about you, Afton,'' Emma said, taking a deep breath. Springtrap had a feeling that she was going to regret whatever she planned to say next. ''Aside from me and Aaron, you'll be also attending Sam's birthday. I mean, that is kind of obvious since she considers you her best friend, but I just wanted to make that clear.''

''So, am I supposed to put up an act as animatronic entertainer and bring her the birthday cake?'' Springtrap asked, grinning. ''I'd love to do that.''

''I have already assumed that you'd say that,'' Emma said, narrowing her eyes. ''There's one more thing that I need to warn you about, though. I won't be telling Aaron about who you really are, as I think that it's already enough that Sam and I know about your true identity. Therefore, you'll be using the same excuse as you did in Anthelm's case – that you are an incredibly advanced animatronic Sam had found.''

''Okay, I can work with that,'' Springtrap said, giving her a mischiveous look. ''So, essentially, I just need to keep up with the masquerade. Nevertheless, people might be still left wondering, considering the kind of awareness I have. No animatronic would act this way…''

''Afton,'' Emma snapped, frowning. ''I want you to be on your best behavior and I don't want to deal with any of your antics. You care about Sam, don't you?''

''Of course I do,'' Springtrap frowned.

''Then don't cause any trouble,'' Emma told him. Springtrap shook his head.

''Emma, you don't have to worry about me, as it is not my intention to ruin Sam's birthday,'' he told her. ''Besides, shouldn't I get her some kind of gift?''

''Trust me, I doubt that she would want any kind of gift from you,'' Emma replied, crossing her arms, with Springtrap giving her a confused look. ''Anyways, just keep in mind what I had told you and don't cause any trouble, because if you do, I will make your life here a complete nightmare.''

Emma then left, with Springtrap crossing his arms. When it came to it, Emma Blackburn was probably the only person alive capable of intimidating him, and he had a lot of respect for her, swearing to himself to never make this woman angry. That didn't mean that he didn't enjoy messing with her.

Nevertheless, this is all about making Sam happy, isn't it? He sighed, his ears lowering. As much as I have experience arranging birthday parties while I worked at Fredbear's and Freddy's, this doesn't mean that those always ended up well for the birthday kid.

xXx

There was mild static covering his eyes, with Raven blinking a few times, only to rise his head, noticing the Drawkills standing inside the room he was trapped in. He frowned, staring at them.

''What are you doing here?'' he asked.

''We live here,'' Drawkill Chica replied sarcastically, sitting on the nearby table, with her arms crossed.

''I wanted to know why you're in this room,'' Raven replied dryly. ''I'm sure that, whatever this place is, has other rooms for you to be in.''

''Considering how we're at an old warehouse owned by Ricky's, yeah, there are actually more rooms here,'' Drawkill Bonnie replied, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. ''However, your room is the nicest.''

''Exactly,'' Drawkill Foxy said, his fingers brushing across the hook-like sickle. ''You will have to deal with our presence, mate.''

''You're certainly a better conversation partner than Connor is,'' Drawkill Freddy said, stepping in front of Raven.

''You know, it would've been easier for me to hold a conversation if I weren't stabbed through my endoskeleton,'' Raven replied, with Drawkill Bonnie walking up to him, slamming his hand beside Raven's head.

''Meanwhile, we have a device implanted inside us that distorts our programming, to the point that we could completely break down if used too much,'' he said aggressively, then chuckled in a mocking manner. ''Of course, you have it much worse; I feel so sorry for you!''

''Mate, yelling at him won't help you,'' Drawkill Foxy said as he approached Drawkill Bonnie. He then rose his sickle, holding it with his other hand. He tilted his head, grinning like a maniac. ''On the other hand, taking your anger out on someone is something I will gladly help you with.''

''No one is going to tear anyone apart here, Foxy,'' Drawkill Freddy interrupted the two, with Drawkill Bonnie looking irritated, while Drawkill Foxy was merely disappointed. Drawkill Freddy payed no attention to the two, staring instead at Raven. ''As for you, sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut, unless you want to be turned into scrap metal.''

Raven snorted, shaking his head.

''Honestly, I don't care what happens to me as long as I get to eliminate Connor,'' he replied, staring at the four Drawkills intently. ''You guys know that Connor is just going to continue killing people because of his crazy beliefs, right?''

''Yeah, we are aware of that,'' Drawkill Chica said in a sarcastic tone. ''None of us are pleased that we're being used as the cleaning crew instead of doing something meaningful.''

''I assume that this purpose you believe to have is involving more murder,'' Raven told her. The Drawkills fell silent, just staring at him. Drawkill Freddy took a step back, clenching his fists.

''We may be at Connor's mercy now, but you should beware of us,'' he said. ''We are going to choose our own fate.''

Links:

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#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

[lmttn]

Gabriel Knight 3: Day 1 Complete

After my initial post about Gabriel Knight 3 (which was itself just me restating a few Tweets I made about the game), I figured I'd keep writing about it until I'm finished with it. I guess this will be like a really abridged camcorder let's play, but maybe less focused on the game itself (For example, I don't think I want to reveal too many huge plot spoilers.) and more on my own thoughts on the game and maybe also the graphic adventure genre as a whole.

Before I start, maybe I should first talk about my own history with the point and click adventure genre. It's not very long. When I was a kid I played a little bit of Nancy Drew: Curse of Blackmoor Manor (2004) with my mom, and I thought it was really difficult and none of the puzzles made any sense and then I went back to playing Battlefield 1942 (2002). Not long later, after getting GameTap (points to anyone else who had it), I tried a few of the many old adventure games on the service, such as the first couple King's Quest games and some of the Myst games. You could probably guess how well those went for me.

It wasn't until last year, at a point in time in which I really felt like I had played everything I thought I wanted to play, that I decided I'd give the genre another shot. It was a good opportunity to explore what I had realized was a huge blind spot; I love old PC games, and this was once a marquee genre for the platform. The first game I played in this excursion was LucasArts's Sam & Max Hit the Road (1993). I just thought it was okay. I really liked Sam and Max as characters, but I wasn't that invested in the world they inhabited or the mystery the game saw them solving. In addition, I really couldn't recall a single puzzle in the whole game. That might be a good thing, since that means none of them must have been particularly infuriating. Next, I tried Full Throttle (1995), also by LucasArts. I didn't finish it because basically nothing about its story, world, characters, or gameplay grabbed me. It's allegedly extremely short, so for all I know I might have seen the majority of the game before quitting.

Up next was Sierra's The Beast Within: A Gabriel Knight Mystery (1995), which I'm just going to refer to as Gabriel Knight 2 or GK2. I was interested in it because it seemed like the polar opposite of the other two games I played. For one, it was by the other major graphic adventure publisher. But it obviously ran way deeper than that. GK2 was very different in terms of tone and presentation as well, being a dark paranormal mystery in a contemporary setting, played by live actors.

I ended up finding GK2 to be immensely charming. Gabriel Knight and Grace Nakimura, the game's dual protagonists, quickly became two of my favorite characters in the medium. The writing and acting were campy, but nothing felt forced or insincere. A couple of its puzzles were pretty frustrating, but they were worth powering through to see the next part of the story. Also, it had to be among the most homoerotic games to be released by a major publisher in the 1990s. Metal Gear Solid wishes. If you're reading this and you haven't played it, I highly recommend it.

Which finally brings me to Gabriel Knight 3: Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Damned (1999). I first tried it right after finishing 2, but was scared off by its interface, which may have been designed by aliens. I'm not going to retread what I talked about in my initial post about the game, but trust me: it's fucking weird.

One of the most confusing things about GK3 is how it starts. The game's opening cutscene gives absolutely no context as to why Gabriel is getting his ass on a train in France. That's because the actual intro is in a prologue comic, which was included in the game's box, but bizarrely isn't included as a digital extra in the Steam/GOG re-releases of the game. Thankfully, it has been uploaded elsewhere.

Heartbreakingly, Dean Erickson did not return to reprise his role as Gabriel. Instead, Tim Curry—who voiced him in the first game—was brought back to play the protagonist. Erickson knocked it out of the park in GK2. He had a more convincing Louisiana accent than Tim Curry ever will, and he was significantly more capable of portraying Gabriel at his most serious. Curry's portrayal, on the other hand, is really over-the-top. Unfortunately, Joanne Takahashi, who did a fantastic job as Grace in 2, didn't return either. I can't comment on her replacement (Charity James) just yet, as Grace has had very little presence so far in my playthrough.

As I said in my initial post about the game, Gabriel Knight 3 used a completely original engine. It was probably going to be used for more than just this game, but GK3 ended up being Sierra's final adventure game. It's a shame because it's a really fascinating engine that, weird interface aside, opens up a level of fully 3D exploration that other graphic adventure games didn't have. Instead of pre-rendered backgrounds, everything is 3D: characters, environments, and all the little objects that inhabit them. The level of detail is pretty surprising, as some of these areas are quite big. You have a freely controllable camera that moves independently of the player character. In the two images below, you can see the same area through two cameras. The first is the default angle you see when you load into this area. In the second, I pulled the camera back as far as it let me:

Obviously, the ground textures have not aged all that well, and some of the skyboxes depicting distant mountains don't look too great either. The level of detail, however, is pretty impressive. All signs and posters in the world are fully legible, and the texture filtering is good enough that they actually still look very smooth when you zoom in on them. I should've taken some pictures of them to illustrate this.

The interiors look (and run) way better, and they also do a better job of showing off the level of detail this engine is capable of. You can pick up that crumpled piece of paper in front of the trash can. It's so useless that it doesn't even get added to your inventory, but it still has a whole animation and voiceover dedicated to it.

Gabriel Knight 3's game sections are divided very concretely. The game's "chapters" are presented as days, which are split blocks of hours. For example, Day 1 of the game is split into 10AM-12PM, 12PM-2PM, 2PM-4PM, 4PM-6PM, and 6PM-10PM. Thankfully, there is no time limit or real-time clock. Instead, essential story progress is what moves you from one time block to the next. As the title suggests, I just finished Day 1 of the game.

Day 1 has the notorious cat hair mustache puzzle. It is, to put it lightly, fucking stupid. To make matters worse, it is the first major puzzle in the game. I can't even imagine how many people bought this game in 1999 only to never see past this part.

While its tale of vampires, missing babies, secret societies, hidden treasures, and seriously unconvincing Scottish accents has me intrigued so far, GK3 lacks the camp charm of its predecessor. Jane Jensen can obviously still write convincing characters, and her sense of humor still shines through occasionally, but this game is way more stone-faced than 2 so far. But all in all, so far so good. If I can get through a puzzle so bad it has its own Wikipedia article, I should be able to comfortably get through the rest of Gabriel Knight 3.

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

in which a random psychic psychically gets destiel together (by accident)

Words: 1713 (AO3)

Originally Posted on 2/6/2024

Summary:

Dean Winchester is not in love with anyone.

He doesn't even think of it, not really, so when he has to lie to Castiel, it's easy to say something along those lines. About Dean and Cas being a thing.

And then it isn't a lie anymore.

For Febuwhump 2024 Day 6: "You Lied To Me."

"You lied to me."

Dean sighs from behind the wheel of the Impala, and he can feel the stare from Cas in the passenger seat. He doesn't sound all that angry, he just says it in that flat way of his, an utter lack of tone at all. It took Dean a while at first to figure out that that was just his default way of talking, not an indicator of anger like it is with most people; so, now, it's easier to tell that Cas ain't mad. He's just stating a fact.

"I don't regret it. Probably wouldn't do it again, circumstances and all, but I'm not gonna regret it." Dean says matter-of-factly, gripping the wheel with a little more force than truly necessary. What he said is true, he doesn't regret lying, even though Sam will probably get on his ass if he ever finds out about it. He's not going to be finding out about it if this conversation goes well, and even if it doesn't because Cas isn't a snitch, but it's usually best to acknowledge the internal Sammy before he starts influencing any real decisions.

"... I would just like to know the reasoning behind it. As well as, perhaps, the full truth in addition to what I've figured out myself. To fill in the gaps." Cas, again, doesn't sound mad. Once, he would've preferred if Cas got mad, because even now this weird not-mad Dean-you-did-something-wrong thing can get under his skin if he thinks about it long enough, but they know each other well enough that this reaction is normal. Correction: Dean knows Cas well enough that he doesn't have to remind himself that this is normal.

"Yeah. I probably owe you that one."

-----

It was a weird case.

Technically, all their cases are weird, considering the whole "hunting demons and ghosts and shit" shtick that they've had going their whole lives, but this one was the weird kind of weird. "Somebody in the writers' room of that weird ass universe where his life is a TV show got paid some big bucks for this one" kind of weird. "That writer's room was either a hotbox or held in a bar" kind of weird.

"It felt like 2005 again" kind of weird.

Psychics are rare, always have been, and their numbers are considerably boosted by people that are possessed by something nasty that pretends it's just psychic, or else people like Sammy whose psychic powers turned out to be from an outside source. Psychics- real psychics, regular-ass humans who got lucky enough to get psychic powers as "a blessing from God" or "a product of Heaven's machinations"- as Cas might say, depending on how cynical he feels that day- or "a genetic mutation, probably the same thing that causes cancer, just way more rare" or "whatever Cas says, isn't he the expert on this?"- as Sam might put it, depending on how much of a nerd he feels like being- have a bajillion-to-one chance of occurring, and extremely varied in their powers and their backgrounds. There's no real common factor between psychics, except that they're psychics, but any two could be polar opposites in every other way.

They hadn't met one of those in a long-ass time, and Dean had kind of stopped believing that there were any besides Missouri Mosely still kicking. The failed apocalypse and its stupid-ass domino effect, among many other things, probably went and fucked that up, that or all the psychics were smart enough to tell which way the winds were blowing and went as incognito as possible. Probably some combo of both.

That's why they didn't think it was a psychic until the psycho chick was staring them right in the face.

It was some town in bumfuck nowhere, Tennessee, population six dozen. People had started turning up missing, all of them in long-term relationships, which immediately made them all think that something was going on. The number of disappearances per capita was already alarming, but an easy common thread never meant anything good, because it usually meant they were dealing with something smart enough to pick out its prey instead of going for something convenient. Whatever they were trying to hunt down had a specific motive, which both narrowed the possibilities and made a whole lot of shit more difficult than it needed to be.

-----

"You never told me that the targets were people in relationships." Cas interrupts, and Dean very much doesn't choke on his soda. Nobody can prove otherwise.

"It wasn't important at the time. We already knew what pissed her off and how to do it, so it was easier to do it than to fill you in on everything beforehand. Besides, we didn't know if it would work if you already knew about it." Dean explains, dodging the actual point of the question entirely.

-----

Half the reason it felt like 2005 was because the monster wasn't a monster, but a flesh-and-blood human who just so happened to be psychic- most of the things they hunt down haven't been human in a long time, if they were ever human at all. The other half of the reason was because the human in question had a moral crusade to enforce on everyone else.

They found out later that the girl had just been cheated on by her boyfriend of six years. She hadn't known that she was the reason behind the disappearances, she hadn't known that her hurt and anger flipped out all over the town, so they gave her Missouri's number when it was over- but before that, in order to find her, they needed bait.

People who lied to their partners about big things, keeping secrets, all got disappeared soon after. They couldn't vanish entirely, no human has the mojo to pull that off, and they needed to figure out where they went when they vanished. Cas had had some angel business or something for the first half of the hunt, but he joined up just in time for him and Dean to be the bait.

It had to be big, and Cas couldn't know he was lying- Dean was picked as the "volunteer," obviously, because of the whole "I raised you from perdition" thing he and Cas have had going on since forever, so that would be more likely to count as a relationship- and it couldn't be something that would drive him off entirely.

"I wanna date you."

It was easy to think of, something wild and outlandish and completely untrue.

The rest of the hunt was... awkward. Cas kind of waffled about it, but while he was buffering, the psychic's power took hold and Dean didn't remember much until they were talking to her after.

-----

"For the record- "

"I hadn't thought of it before. You know I don't date all that much, and I don't really..."

"You reciprocate, and you enjoy the relationships itself, but you rarely, if ever, offer."

"Exactly. Notice I didn't say I wanted to fuck you, that one would've been tr- "

"I believe that most humans would not let you finish that sentence. Did you not say that we're not a 'thing,' and you were just pent up?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah, I did." He admits, but doesn't elaborate, not knowing how to put the rest of his thoughts into the right words.

Cas pauses for a moment, before clearing his throat and changing the subject. "I followed the... I suppose you'd probably liken it to a telephone signal, to the source, a young woman who had no idea that she'd been doing anything at all. She wasn't actively telling you to go drive off a cliff, it was more of a curse on the whole town."

"But psychics don't do curses." Dean counters Cas and his choice of words, because curses aren't caused by anything but witches and monsters. Psychics can't do curses, because they all have to put conscious effort into all their powers- it's like if Dean's arm and hand turned the steering wheel correctly while they're completely detached from his body, it's impossible to do because it's not how limbs work. It's hypothetically possible to do psychic bullshit without being aware of it, but that's not a curse, because curses are set once and then they do their bullshit themselves.

Cas doesn't respond, and Dean knows by way of his periphery and maybe some latent psychic bullshit of his own that Cas is making a face at him right now. He knows that Cas means that it was subconscious or whatever, but he likes to be annoying sometimes. Fight him.

"Either way, she's not doing it anymore and the problem is solved, so please explain to me why Sam seems to believe that we're being 'awkward' and need to 'get a room.'"

Dean spots a gas station up ahead, and is silent for a moment or two before he pulls in. He sets up the gas pump and leans against the car, Cas coming out to join him after about a minute. Dean keeps his eyes firmly on the gas pump, because it's easier if he doesn't have to look.

"He's saying that because I thought about it. After. And I decided that I wasn't lying anymore."

Dean lets that hang in the air, and he waits for the inevitable quiet flap of angel wings getting Cas the fuck out of the situation. Sammy's always been about talking about things, the asshole, and he'd never get off of Dean's ass if he didn't say anything now. He's not going to get off of Dean's ass either way, but at least this rejection can put a delay on it for now.

"I... am not familiar with how humans do this 'dating' thing. I'm sure that television isn't the most reliable source, so you'll have to teach me."

Dean whips around to stare at Cas in naked disbelief. Cas is staring back, expressionless, as though he just said something simple or obvious. Maybe it is, to him- maybe this is all trivial bullshit to him, cultural differences or whatever.

"I can do that." Dean says eagerly, almost too eagerly, but Cas smiles a bit at him and he finds he doesn't really give a shit about appearance right now.

[jonathantaylorthomas]

[excerpt] “Me and Jack, we keep each other informed on any project we’re working on,” Spears tells Rolling Stone. “We usually take at least a week out of the year just to create with no goal in mind. That’s basically how Red Hearse was created.”

Before Antonoff began to work on Swift’s tenth album, he was cooking up tracks with Spears, Dew, and Zoë Kravitz. (Kravitz revealed earlier this year that she is currently working on her debut solo album with Antonoff). During a brainstorming session, the quartet put together a track that would eventually become “Lavender Haze.”

“It was not specifically meant for anything,” he recalls. “That one was me going through sounds for 15 minutes and eventually hitting one button by accident. Jack’s eyes lit up and was like ‘What was that?’It just happened to be this small little loop that my guy Jahaan [Sweet, fellow TDE producer] sent me a while back.”

Spears twisted up the loop and they added a bunch of effects to make it sound the way it does now. “Sam went in with the melodies. Zoë is actually a creative genius. She’s not just a phenomenal actor. Her ability to create different sonics and find different melodies is next level.”

A few months later, Antonoff reached out to Spears, Dew, and Kravitz to see if he could pitch the song to Swift, who loved it immediately. She wrote lyrics inspired by a Mad Men scene, numerous tabloid rumors and online gossip about her relationship status, and “1950s expectations.”

“When Jack brought us in the hear for the first time, all our mouths dropped. She took it to a whole new world and made it her own. She created different pockets we did not hear.”

“Glitch,” one of the bonus songs on the Midnights (3am) edition, was born from the same studio session as “Lavender Haze.” The bubbly “Karma” came later, when Antonoff reached out to Spears for any other ideas he may have to contribute to the album and its synth-pop vision.

“‘Karma’ was just a last-minute Hail Mary,” Spears says. “I remembered I was working with my guy Keanu [Beats] and had something that was too perfect not to send to her. As soon as I sent it, Jack was instantly like ‘This is the one. Playing it for Taylor now. We’re going in on it.’ The next day, I heard the final product with her vocals on it.”

While it’s still too early to tell which songs will be the runaway successes from the album, it’s clear “Karma” has struck a chord on TikTok, nearing 20,000 videos for the official sound with only a few days under its belt.

“Such a fun song! It instantly rings up and you just feel joy inside. And the messaging is so cool,” Spears says.

Spears only heard a few other songs from the LP prior to its officially release; Antonoff had sent over a sampling of what him and Swift had made so Spears had a sense of the sound they were going for when he went to reproduce the beats following the lyric and vocal additions. He was impressed by the sound, concept and surprise drop of seven extra tracks. He even has favorites already.

“Right now I’m going back and forth from ‘Anti-Hero’ and ‘Glitch.’ Not to toot my own horn, but I like the weirdness of ‘Glitch.’ The breakdown part is everything it was meant to be. This is so amazing to me.”

[goatskickin]

     “This place is a dump.”

“Shh! Olivier might be here today. Don’t let him hear you say that.”

…

“I really wish we had somewhere nicer to meet people.”

“Me too. Like, a coffee shop? Or even a park.”

“We have the skatepark.”

“Ha! Yeah, littered with beer cans and it smells like piss. Pass.”

“…so, how will we know it’s her?”

“Well, if she walks up to us and her name isn’t Tatiana, then we will know it’s not her.”

“Okay sassy! Jeez.”

…

“Sorry.”

…

“I’m just nervous. She came a long way, and she’s pretty young…I just hope this works out.”

“Riverblossom Hills, right?”

“Yep. Wonder how she got here.”

…

“Hey! I think that’s her!”

“Is that a dog with her? Ooh, I don’t know about that…”

“Yeah, where did she get a dog anyway?”

“Morning!”

“…good morning.”

“Hey…uh.”

“You can’t have dogs in here. There’s a sign.”

  *gasp*

   * cough*cough*COUGH*

“Mercy and Cheyenne?”

“You’re the only other people here…

“…so I have to assume-“

“Yes! Hi! Wow, come on, yes! Come sit!”

“So! It’s so great to meet you – so, uh, sorry if this seems a little formal, well not this place, but like - oh I’m Cheyenne, by the way…so like, meeting outside of the radio station –“

“…I just needed to make sure you were like, you know, ‘normal’, and that we could have a, you know, little meetup before we go to the station, seeing as how that will be your home now too-“

“Riverblossom Hills. That’s farm country.

…

Kind of a rough place to grow up, things being as they are – were – after the fall.”

“Mercy!”

“No, it’s okay. It’s a fair question.”

“It was a rough place to grow up. I imagine anyplace is right now. I was hungry a lot.”

“Riverblossom Hills is pretty far from here. How did you get here?”

…

“I walked.”

“What?!”

"Well! There’s no one I could catch a ride with, and I can’t drive. So, I walked.”

…

“That’s…that’s so far…”

“And you didn’t encounter any danger? Wasn’t it cold?”

“Oh! Well, Ibrahim would never let anything bad happen to me.”

“Yeah…about that. I personally love dogs, Mercy does too, but there’s a, uh, local, uh, criminal element, that uh, takes issue with uh…dogs.”

…

“Hm. I see. Well, Ibrahim can protect himself.”

“Uh, yeah! And stay out!”

“Uh, wow, he’s uh, well trained.”

“So did he like…where…did he-“

“Like I said, Ibe knows how to protect himself! He’ll come find me later. Probably after the sun goes down.”

…

“Well, let’s get on with the interview then?”

“So! I know that you’d done some audio-visual classes in high school. And you said that you were able to bring some cassettes from home?”

“Yeah! I have the tracklist - I didn’t want to risk taking them with all me, all the way here in the snow. Hang on.”

“Oh wow! You’ve got some David Bowie? And not that 80’s saxophone crap either…uh, Wagner? Sure, we can do that for our classical music mixes…I’ve never heard of Blonde Redhead but uh, sounds cool…oh, what’s this? ‘L. Broadsheet Summer Mix #3’?”

“Oh, that’s my dad’s! He left behind a lot of what is now my cassette collection. It’s all unlabeled tracks. But it’s like…some Silver Jews-esque guys, some indie-folk stuff, uh one song that sounds like Bjork but isn’t Bjork?”

           “Great!...oh, Kool and the Gang! Nice!….um, Mother Earth’s Plantasia?”

“Oh! Yeah, that one is more nostalgic for me…I didn’t know if you’d heard of it, but it was apparently music to play for plants to listen to? My grandmother loved it, she was nuts for plants.”

“Well, cool! We don’t mind the weird stuff at Pitstop Radio.”

“So. Sam Poole finally made an honest woman out of Saskia? About time.”

“Shh! Knock it off.”

“I like that Saskia is happy. Oliver never made a move.”

“Serves him right.”

“Oh Tatiana, don’t encourage her.

…

In addition to the very best music Pitstop Valley can offer, we report honest, unbiased news at Pitstop Radio. Not gossip.”

“What, like how Wendy Waters’ cat got out again? Or how someone claims they saw bats flying over the old Indiana theater?”

“Boooring.”

~~~

"Hello?"

"Hello."

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (6/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.1k words

Bucky couldn't recall the last time he had a genuine conversation with someone who wasn't his best mates, Sam and Steve. He enjoyed your company and as much as he hated to let his guard down, he wanted to do just that with you. You were everything that Bucky thought he would find repulsive, but he couldn’t help but be attracted towards you. And for the first time he wanted more, he didn't want a one-night stand or a fling with you, he wanted to know you. He admired your courage and bravery, but mostly he admired you. You, with all your stupid yet funny jokes and spontaneity; he liked you more than he would like to admit.

But there was this thing that you were his employee and one meal doesn't count as a date. It was just a meal. But yet, Bucky wanted it to be more. He had never been so intrigued by another person, but it was also clear that you didn't reciprocate his interest. And Bucky would have all of his 206 bones crushed out rather than giving his heart to someone only for it to be not requited. 

So, when you walked into the club the next day, pretending as if nothing had changed, Bucky knew where your relationship lay with him, and he was content with it. Okay, he wasn't content with it, but he knew he couldn't force something that wasn't there. He would choose to be in your life as your boss, acquaintance, or maybe even a friend if he's lucky enough than to not be in your life at all. 

***

When you got settled behind the counter, your mood wasn't that great. It could be because you weren't drunk this time, or maybe because you enjoyed your meal with your boss a little too much for your liking. You wouldn't call it a date, but it sure as hell was a lot better than all the dates or meals you've had with people.

Your good mood was definitely not because of the fact that your mother called only to inform you that this family friend's son is not going to wait around long, and you should at least find a stable job if you can't find a suitable boyfriend. Then she started boasting about your sister and her amazing profession and how she and her husband save lives every day. And you might have had enough of her bullshit and lied that you indeed have a stable job and relationship. None of which is true. 

Bartending only pays the bills, and you haven't had a relationship in years and none of them were serious. You always ran away from any sort of commitment because you knew you would eventually have to introduce your partner to your family and nobody deserves to see that circus, and you told yourself that you're doing a favor to those previous partners by leaving them or as your friends like to call ghosting them. In your defense, dealing with you and your family is more horrific than any scary movie. 

Well, until now because tomorrow your sister and her family are coming to meet your partner and take you back to your parents' place for the weekend. The only problem is that you lied to them about your job and your partner. The worst part is that both of them are pretty non-existent.

"Hey, How are you feeling? " Peter asked you, noticing how you still weren't paying attention to the customer in front of you. 

“Great, not drunk, if that's what you're wondering.” 

“I'm fine," you retorted, glancing at the concerned look Peter was giving you. You quickly took the customer's order and proceeded to make the drink. 

"The last time you said you were fine, you threatened to kill a dude," Pietro interjected, enjoying the faux disbelief that landed on your face. You looked over to Wanda for help, but she just chuckled at her brother's antics.

The rest of the night at work went by as it usually did. Pietro making a sarcastic remark here and there, Wanda countering her brother with a snarky response, you were laughing your ass off watching the duo and Peter awkwardly tried to suppress his amusement. In a weird custom, these three coworkers were the only thing that felt normal. 

By the time you were done, it was mostly you left like always, with the addition of security guards that James added since Rumlow. You wanted to talk to him, especially after the wonderful not date you had, but the situation with him was not under your control anymore and it released from your grasp which scared the shit out of you. If James and you had met under different circumstances, then you would have tried to date him, but with him being your boss and the whole Rumlow thing made everything so complicated, and you didn't have time for any sort of relationship complication in your life. At least that's what you kept telling yourself.

When you were done with your shift and were about to leave, a very familiar voice called for you. You've been trying to ignore him all day and just when you thought you've succeeded, he catches up to you. 

The thing that scared you with James was that you felt safe, too safe with him. You were scared that you were going to become dependent on him for your security, and you hated that. You always despised women who weren't anything except their husband's wife, as if their whole identity was being a man's property. Furthermore, you knew the only thing to be blamed here was patriarchy and men, but you decided that you weren't going to be someone's property, you were going to be your own person. 

And you rebelled a lot to reach here, dyed your hair blue just because your mom told you not to, pursued your dream just because your dad told you to follow a secure nine to four job, left ex-partners because they told you what to and what not to wear. And some part of you knew that James wasn't like that. He wouldn't exploit you and your weaknesses. 

But what you didn't realize was that these were merely excuses that your brain mustered up because you were too scared to be dumped. A long time ago, you decided that it is better to leave than be left. And James — well, James made you feel things that you didn't want to chase. You feared commitment and abandonment too much to go after a guy. 

Your thoughts were brought to a halt when he held your wrist gently and called your name again. Reluctantly, you turned around, pretending to be surprised as if you didn't see him. 

He obviously caught on to you. "Why are you ignoring me?" 

"What?" You scoffed in feign disbelief, taking your hand away from his grasp and setting it on his shoulder. "Why would I ignore you, bud?"

Bud? What the fuck? , both of you thought at the same time.

Carefully, he eyed your hand and then you, "Okay, come on, I'll drop you home."

"No, James, it's fine, I can go on my own." 

"Yes, yes, you are an independent, strong woman but come on," He teased, but you didn't seem to pick up the glint of mischief in his eyes. 

You heard that as a taunt, a taunt your father has told you an ample number of times, that you indeed can never be anything on your own if you don't have a man beside you. While you were lost in your thoughts, James was moving towards his car, assuming that you were following him.

 "But I am," you argued. 

Your voice sounded distant to him, he turned around and walked towards you. "You are what?" 

"I am strong and independent."

"Yes, you are," he agreed as a matter of factly because it was the truth. He had never met someone so strong who would leave behind their whole life to pursue their dreams. He, being the mob boss, and filthy rich couldn't do the same, and he may not tell you this, but he admired you so much. 

Once you got the assurance you needed, you started walking towards his car. "Are you coming or not?" and he followed you. 

Of course, you knew you were strong, but your life had not been going as smoothly as you anticipated. You're stuck in writer's block, your family interference and lack of trust in you hurts like a bitch. You were somewhat crushing on your boss, and you blurted random embarrassing stuff in front of him without thinking. You know, normal crush things. 

When you reached the apartment, he insisted on dropping you to your floor. The car ride was spent in peaceful silence, but the time spent in the elevator was everything but that. No, the fifteen seconds were spent in James fidgeting beside you because he wanted to say something but didn't know how to. 

After you unlocked your door, he finally spoke up. "Um, I was just wondering whether, you know, - I had fun last night and I don't have smooth conversations with people - um, I don't know, I'd like to go out with you again," he didn't finish, but your eyebrows shot up to your forehead and he quickly backpedaled. " Not as a date, if that's what you want. It could be a meal shared between you and your boss. Not that I'm implying that you are obligated to go with me just because I'm your boss. I'm asking this as a stranger, well, not as a stranger but as a friend, I think."

"James,” you spoke softly, and he could feel the denial coming his way.” I had fun too, but you're my boss. This is highly unprofessional."

He signed in defeat and looked at you one last time. There was so much he wanted to say, he wanted to tell you that he enjoyed your company more than he should. He wanted to tell you that he liked you. He wanted to tell you that he wanted to see where this thing would lead with you, but he knew better than that. At the end of the day, you were his employee and if you were to get involved with him in any form, it would only end in your tarnished reputation. So, he nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak much after the clear rejection. "I understand."

"Y/N! “

Both of you turned towards the source of the voice and frowned. He frowned because he was confused, whereas you, oh, you weren't confused, you were furious at the person standing there and at yourself for forgetting about their arrival.

 "Hi, Carol. I thought you were coming tomorrow," you stated, faking a smile, and everyone in the area could see your distressed attempt at looking excited.

 Well, everyone except your sister because she shrieked with happiness and ran towards you to throw her arms around you. Her husband followed behind and gave you and James an awkward smile.

 "I just couldn't wait to meet my baby sister and we'll take you guys back for the weekend."

You guys, James and you thought at the same time. James looked at the side of your face for an explanation, and you kept looking forward at your sister, avoiding his gaze.

Fuck, you forgot about that. How can you forget about that? You mentally cursed yourself and didn't say anything because you didn't know what to do. 

Your sister picked your silence as her cue to talk and pointed her index finger at James, who was standing beside you now. "Is this him?"

Your sister looked at you, expecting an answer, your brother-in-law looked at you with something called, please hurry up, I just want to go back to the hotel. James looked at you with bewilderment. 

You sighed and took your boss's hand in yours, who also happens to be the most dangerous person in the town. He complied, holding on to you tightly, running his thumb on the back of your hand in a soothing manner. It felt like the most obvious thing as if your hand was made to be held by him. The thought sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you were too stubborn to accept it.

"Yes," you finalized. "This is James, my boyfriend."

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @goodcleanfunsis @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407​ @priii​

[violenceenthusiast]

ok i had a thought that makes me wanna dip my head in acid but in a soft way...

dean and claire having a father/daughter saturday of fun and low-grade mischief, going to an arcade and joke-fighting over what stuffed animal to get with their tickets and getting slushies and while they’re taking a break to grab burgers claire says “yknow i’ve been meaning to go get- wanna come with me while i get a new piercing??”

and dean pinches in the direction of her ear a little and says “what, you don’t have enough of those already?” as if he doesn’t think they’re the coolest thing.

she waves him off, eyes flicking between the burger in her hands and the table “i don’t know i just thought it’d be something else fun to do today.”

dean’s only half teasing when he asks “you want me there to hold your hand?”

claire rolls her eyes and looks to the side with half a smile, “oh shut up.” but it’s true, she does want him there to hold her hand– she may be a hardcore hunter who will take a knife cut or a monster bite in stride, but she always gets a little nervous before each piercing. maybe having dean there will make it just a little more manageable.

––

they get to the studio and claire signs the forms, picks out her jewelry, takes a seat to wait while they get ready for her. dean is pacing, looking carefully in each case, at each display. the nice person behind the counter sees him looking and asks “did you want to get something pierced today too?” claire cracks a smile at that and dean looks up at the counter clerk a little wide-eyed, eyebrows raised and mouth half open in surprise, huffs out a breath and looks down as half a nervous smile pulls at the left side of his mouth. he sticks one hand in his pocket and gives one wave with the other as he says “ha. nah, no- just here for her today” as he gestures at claire. he goes to sit with her until the piercer calls them back to the room that’s set up for them.

claire is getting a conch piercing and it’s going more easily than usual- partly because dean is there with her, partly because there are shockingly few nerve endings in the middle of the ear cartilage, and partly because the woman doing the piercing is insanely pretty and insanely good at what she does (she used to be a phlebotomist so she knows a little something about blood, needles, nervousness, and a given person’s propensity for fainting). while the piercer is busy marking the ear, claire looks over at dean in his chair and unable to contain the question any longer asks him, “you ever thought about getting a piercing?”

“me? nah.. it’s just not- i mean they would’ve gotten ripped out for sure by some- by accident.” he was about to say ‘by some monster’ but caught himself before he really weirded out the nice piercer woman. he hadn’t thought about him and piercings in a long time. he had slowly stopped wearing even rings and bracelets as much over the years in case they got caught on something during a hunt (though now he had a new ring on his left hand that he never took off). a piece of jewelry actually in the body was even more of a ridiculous idea for a hunter. but he wasn’t a hunter any more, not really. hadn’t been for about a year. after chuck and getting cas back safe and human.. with sam and eileen running their witchy little hunter hub from the bunker.. it had just seemed like his opportunity and his time to break out of it all. wow okay in that split second he trailed so far off from where he started.. where did he start? ...piercings! right. he remembers being young and not being able to take his eyes off the men in bars with the metal glinting in their ears, noses, lips.. now he knew the staring had been more about the men than the jewelry but it hadn’t not been about the jewelry either. was this one of those things he got to think about now, again, for the first time in a lifetime?

claire takes a moment to make sure she isn’t woozy any more and gets up to go look in the mirror at her new adornment. she smiles and dean snaps out of his own little world to say “you like it?” 

she looks at him through the mirror “love it.” and then, mischievous, “your turn.”

“my turn??”

“oh absolutely.” a moment of raised eyebrows and incredulous silence then, “if you decide you hate it you can just take it out. c’mon i saw your face, you want one you can’t hide from me.”

she’s right. he protests weakly, but she knows him all too well at this point and she’s right and the goading from the piercer only encourages her.

“okay okay fine. but nothing too showy.”

they decide on a rook. it’s not too prominent but it’s definitely there, definitely unique, it will look okay on it’s own if he never gets another piercing, and if he has to jump in on an odd hunt it’s far enough into the ear that it would be hard for it to get caught on anything or ripped out. dean picks a simple, stainless steel piece with a lapis lazuli setting– blue for his husband (though if you asked him he would deny that’s why he chose it. but only at first).

he can’t believe how jittery he is about the whole thing, but this time claire holds his hand. it’s over before it’s begun and he thought it might be painful like the tattoo was, or like any of the number of painful little things that have happened to him over the years but it’s not, it mostly just feels strange. it’s nice to be surprised like that.

dean hops off the bench like claire did and goes to the mirror half expecting to hate what he sees. but he’s surprised for the second time in barely a minute. the glint of the metal in his ear doesn’t just look good, it looks right. like it was meant to be there and he had been awaiting it’s arrival but didn’t know it. something hard to name, something small, something he didn’t know was missing until he found it had just found its way to him, slotted into place and settled in his ribs. he feels quieter but also on fire– like he’d be satisfied to just sit and read a book, like he could face god and win (again).

from behind him claire asks, “like it?”

he smiles. “love it.”

––

they kick around for a little while longer, each of them forgetting about their new piercings until they catch sight of the other’s or until they catch their reflection in a shop window and take a second to admire the newness. eventually claire begrudgingly admits she has to get back to campus to get some work done. dean drops her off at her dorm with a hug and a “stay out of trouble”. 

dean makes the drive home to cas, just lost enough in happy thoughts and memories from the day that he forgets to put on any music until he’s already half way home. 

he gets to the house and finds cas watering the plants in the living room. he leans in the doorframe, watching his love gently tend to each plant in turn. dean doesn’t say anything, he knows cas knows he’s there and will greet him when he’s finished seeing to his darlings. in the meantime dean gets to delight in the sight of the curve of cas’ back as he bends this way and that to reach the plants, the delicate and reverent care he shows each leaf and vine.

cas finishes his routine, sets the water down and turns to greet dean. he freezes half way to saying hello because something is.. something.. something is... he can’t put a name to it, nothing is wrong but dean is.. shifted. not different.. but different. dean is holding his head oddly turned to the side and it doesn’t help either that dean is smiling around a secret and they both know it. cas narrows his eyes but brushes off the feeling long enough to cross the room and give dean a kiss, quick but whole and familiar. dean turns his head to look at a plant and ask a question about it and “accidentally” reveal his new addition. cas, who hasn’t taken a single step backwards since coming over to kiss dean, of course sees the jewelry immediately and exclaims before dean even has a chance to start his made-up question. 

after some very amusing joke-yelling from both sides, it’s revealed that cas just absolutely loves it. and not that dean was worried cas would hate it but dean was a little worried cas would hate it. or worse, that he would judge it. but cas loves that dean tried something new, loves that he chose something blue, loves that dean seems just that little bit more at home in himself. and from the slight blush in his cheeks and ears, dean can tell cas thinks it’s a little bit sexy too. 

––

dean keeps thinking about how much he liked getting a piercing. he gets it on a fundamental level now, gets claire and her array of silver and gold. he’s got the taste for it now, the itch. he’s thinking about going back for another one. or two. but what else, what next? he cheekily wonders about picking based on what would drive cas wild. 

...dean goes back in secret a month and a half later to get his nips pierced. it doesn’t stay secret for long. not from cas, at least. 

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (April 28/2021) - Enderwalk’s Response

Foolish’s summer home gains another new resident for the time being, as Ponk sets up a shack to stay at while he works on the massive supreme fridge.

Ranboo checks his Memory Book and finds that something new has been written in it.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Ranboo

Badboyhalo

Captain Puffy

---

- In preparation for the construction of the supreme fridge, Ponk sets up a campsite at Foolish’s summer home. He works on constructing a wooden shack.

- Foolish gathers glowstone in the Nether

- He notices that there have been additions made onto the L’Sandburg/L’Puffburg capital, including a new official L’Puffburg flag.

- He then sees the house that Ponk built and goes over, running into Ponk inside.

- Foolish asks, wasn’t Ponk going to build a supreme fridge? Ponk explains that he needs a place to rest and store his items. 

- Ponk shows Foolish the movie posters and asks if he thinks the mom from Coraline is hot.

- They work out a place for Ponk to build the massive supreme fridge at Foolish’s summer home. The fridge will be solar powered, an act of friendship.

- Foolish points out that everything Ponk is saying sounds an awful lot like what the L’Sandburgians told him. History is repeating itself. 

- Ponk thanks Foolish for not burning down his shack and for letting him build on this land to prove his friendship, and leaves.

- Foolish thinks that the summer home might become more of a summer...neighborhood? Town? 

- First, he replaces the obsidian on the L’Sandburg/L’Puffburg tower with sandstone.

- Then he decorates the tower with blue concrete and glowstone.

- Ranboo brews potions for a roadtrip. Phil comes over to show him a trick to make it easier.

- Ranboo stumbles across the splash water bottles in a brewing stand

- Phil comes over to yoink them and splashes them on himself, telling Ranboo he’s safe now

- Ranboo told Phil about the experiments, but Phil doesn’t know what they were for. Phil thinks they’re to build up resistance

- Ranboo opens his Memory Book to see if he got any answers...

What am I?

I am someone who stops conflict. I need to make sure that if any conflict arises to try and help in any way possible.

MAKE SURE THAT EVERYONE IS SAFE. STOP CONFLICT. MAKE THE SERVER BETTER.

This is what I need to do. Trust me.

- At least the Enderwalk is communicating. Why would Ranboo need to do that? There isn’t much conflict on the server now. He’s not sure what this means.

- He doesn’t think there’s going to be conflict. Maybe a little bit, but just the battle between hotels, if anything. This is just something to remember.

- Ranboo goes back to preparing and gifts Phil a Totem of Undying for the trick.

- Phil tells Ranboo he found something in his chest: some splash water bottles. He doesn’t know how they got there.

- Ranboo tells Phil he’s only been using them to build up a tolerance to water.

- Phil wishes him a safe trip. Ranboo says he’ll grab Phil a third totem and heads off.

- Ranboo runs on top of the Nether roof. He has to get more totems because he’s scared. Tubbo used up a totem the other day already. He has to make sure everyone has one. Can he put a totem on Michael?

- He’s supposed to be the “conflict resolution person,” but he’s not great at it due to his lack of backbone. He has to be a little less spineless so that he can help solve conflict. 

- Tommy trying to get past all his traumatic experiences and the stuff with the TNT cannons was kind of strange, right? What is he trying to do? Something to do with the prison.

- He hasn’t seen Quackity in a long time, ever since Doomsday. Everything’s been quite quiet, it’s weird.

- There’s the Egg, but according to Sam, the Egg is good. So maybe everything will return to being chill.

- Quackity and Fundy both, he hasn’t seen since Doomsdsay. He saw NIki for the Syndicate...

- Sam is an interesting person. He’s still dealing with the death of Tommy, but Ranboo thinks he can still be trusted to get rid of the Egg.

- Ranboo’s been very detached from a lot of people at this point, to the point where he doesn’t remember what a lot of people even did wrong. Quackity and Fundy have probably moved on from a lot of things.

- Ranboo and Tubbo have a mutual understanding that there are probably things that they’ve kept from each other. 

- The reason that Ranboo hasn’t told people about the Enderwalk is because he literally can’t, kind of. He just gets stopped when he tries to say something that he’s done, and this is new.

- He hopes that in the Enderwalk, he’s still careful and doesn’t slip up and reveal something he can’t explain.

- Tubbo told Ranboo about the Manberg Festival and that he was outed as a traitor to Manberg and escaped to Pogtopia, but not being executed.

- Bad does a chill stream discussing a lot about the Egg lore!

- He’s working on building a massive wall at his and Skeppy’s mansion

- Puffy, Bad and Ant do some PvP with each other

---

Upcoming Events:

- Tommy’s prison break-in

- Quackity’s business opening

- Bad’s Egg lore stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Dream’s lore video

[potato-with-hair]

Fake News

First tumblr Story Ever

As the newest Avenger it seemed that Tony Stark and Captain Rogers were more than comfortable sending you out on all of the shit missions, granted, you could use the time in with your new teammates to learn their little quirks and start working to meld your abilities with theirs so that you could start working together seamlessly, but it was getting ridiculous. You were half expecting to start getting told to go out and help the NYFD rescue kittens from trees and helping the NYPD direct traffic on Broadway in Manhattan during rush hour. Y/N was a technopath, which was a fancy name for someone who could control technology and anything mechanical with their mind, or if you wanted to be technical about it, according to the official S.H.I.E.L.D. dossier:

Y/L/N, Y/N: Main Ability: Technology Manipulation

User can manipulate technology, the sum of techniques, skills, methods, and

processes used in the production of goods or services or in the accomplishment

of objectives. However, most users only can exert control over technological

constructs, such as computers, robots, hardware, and other devices that can be

termed as "technology", in any way. Manifested as a special form of electrical/telekinetic manipulation, a special form of "morphing" which allows physical interaction with machines, or even a psychic ability that allows mental interface with computer data.

Also Called:

· Cyberkinesis

· Cyberpathy

· Mechanokinesis

· Technokinesis

· Technopathy

Pretty cool, huh? Anyway, spring was coming to a close and summer was just around the corner. Tony asked me and Sam Wilson, you may know him as Falcon, to head to midtown

Manhattan because there were some “unsavory” characters hanging around Grand Central Station.

Turns out it was some low-level HYDRA minions that were basically trying to see what kind of trouble they could cause, they had planted a pipe bomb in a waste bin in the middle of the station and it was a Friday when thousands of people would be traveling through the station heading to and from work and school. I think that HYDRA was more or less just testing us Avengers out to what abilities we had and see if there are any hidden capabilities we possessed before they come at us for a full-scale attack.

Sam and I arrived and were able to find the pipe bomb relatively quickly, part of my ability is being able to read the signatures of different technologies and mechanics, and if you don’t think that a bomb countdown timer throws out a red flag, you are mistaken. Anyway, we found it, and rather than call bomb and arson with New York’s Finest, I was able to manipulate the mechanics myself using my mind. I shut down the detonator without ever touching the bomb and made the whole thing inactive within a few minutes time.

Easy peasy, 10 minutes, another fast sweep which took an additional 30 minutes, and Sam and I were finished and ready for our close-ups from the media that always, inevitably followed. We had a small group of media that always showed up whenever a call went out that an Avenger was “working” and there was almost always a small fan base at Grand Central or where ever we were working who would come up to thank us, like we were some sort of rock stars, and as per usual some of the younger men and women took the opportunity to do some flirting with us. Tony told us, unattached Avengers, that any publicity and light flirting and playfulness with the fans was good publicity and would help for the public to relate to us and see us in a positive light. I am not going to lie, I may or may not have had a little thing for our resident speedy Sokovian, but our little flirting in the compound never seemed to go beyond that, flirting. I thought there was a possibility he liked me also, but, so far, nothing. Although I did catch him staring at me quite often and Wanda and some of the guys were always talking to him and then immediately looking in her direction like they were just discussing her. Pietro did seem to always try to be around me and sit near me as often as possible as well. Also when the “fans” would flirt with him, I noticed he never really showed much interest in them, always watching to see what I was doing.

Oh well, time to spend a little time with the crowd before Sam and I headed back to the compound. The New York Times was talking to some travelers about the pipe bomb that was found in the wastebasket and what their thoughts were and how they felt about us being there to “save the day, yet again” when an overzealous “fan” started to get a little handsy with me in the background. He had followed me around and asked me to dinner a few times, flashing cash and his business card a few times, trying to press it into my hand multiple times. I explained I was really bust and thanked him but said I was not interested or available, but he kept perusing me. He was leaning over my shoulder with his hand around my waist from behind, body pulled directly flush with my back and he was in an excited state if you know what I mean, and he was whispering in my ear about some of his fantasies and things that he has dreamt of doing to me. Of course, the camera flashed right as he started to kiss my neck and I had a smile on my face because I was focusing on a sweet 10 year old in front of me asking for my autograph and telling me I was her favorite avenger. If the camera had waited all of 5 seconds more, they would have caught me performing a minor assault on the prick and another 5 seconds would have caught Sam pulling me off of him and flying us out of the station and back to the compound with his hand over my mouth because I let lose a string of explicative’s that would put Wade Wilson to shame.

The next morning I woke up and took a shower, went down to the kitchen and made my normal toast and juice and bowl of fruit, and could not help notice that the Avengers that were there were looking at me strangely, I thought it was because I was still in a sour mood because of that jerk from yesterday and the icky feeling he gave me that I was assaulted by scum. I knew that Rogers, Wanda, Sam, and Nat were on their way to Lagos on a mission. Thor and Banner were MIA since Sokovia, which left Stark, Rhodey, Vision, Pietro and I still here.

“Y/N, so, how was the pipe bomb incident yesterday?” Tony asked seemingly hinting at something

“Uneventful aside from a slight annoyance in the crowd, is there coffee left?” Y/N responded looking at him while rising to get a mug and pour a hot mug to clear the remaining sleep from my head.

“Nothing happened? Nobody special you want to tell us about?” Rhodey chimes in.

“Not that I am aware of or worth mentioning now that it’s done and over with, is there something you would like to tell me about?” Y/N asks looking back and forth to them. “Hey, where’s Speedy, he’s usually down here eating everything that isn’t trying to eat him first.”

Tony looks at Y/N and smirks, “It is strange that you should mention that, he came in about 20 minutes ago, I assume you were in the shower or I am sure you would have heard him, saw the cover of the New York Times, flipped out and, well, here you are, please take a look, we are on pins and needles to know what you think. And I hope you know that all suitors must meet the full team before you becoming an “item” and pass Avenger inspection, and Rogers is particularly tough.” He slid the paper across the kitchen island to where you sat, both he and Rhodey watching your face for a reaction. You unfolded the paper confused and looked at the front cover.

There in black and white at you was a close up of the stranger with his arms around your waist from behind, you leaning slightly forward smiling and the stranger kissing your neck, the little girl you were smiling at was covered by the person being interviewed in the foreground. To someone who was not there and did not know the story, this definitely looked bad, like a very intimate moment caught on film, the headline read ‘Newest Avenger Moving Fast With New York Wall Street Trader’ the article went on to talk about how you just met the guy and did not bother to get his name, but just let him put the moves on you, yadda, yadda, yadda. Apparently, after Sam got you out of there, the “gentleman: in question decided to make a name for himself and gave a short interview making it sound like you approached him and started the whole flirt fest, lead him on, and then abandoned him, with the promise to return. You looked at Tony and Rhodey with wide eyes and a sick feeling in your stomach, “This is the biggest load of shit I have ever read in my life, this is not anything at all what happened. About 3 seconds after this picture was snapped, I basically slapped the taste out of his mouth and would have continued to do so had Sam not gotten me out of there. Flirting? More like this guy assaulted me. This was not consensual or wanted. I told him multiple times I was not interested and refused his advances and invitations to dinner and he kept bothering me. I was talking to a little kid and he pulled this crap when I had my back turned to him.”

Tony went from joking to serious almost instantly, “Okay, we were just going to bust your balls on this a little bit, but this has just become a non-joke. I’ll have Pepper contact someone in Stark Industries legal department to get in touch with the paper to track this guy down, he’ll have had to sign a waiver for publication and we’re going to go after him for liable and harassment. If he tries to come after you for battery for the assault, well, we’ll call that defense, Avenger or not, no one gets to touch you without permission. Y/n we really didn’t know, we were just going to play around with you about this a little, and we had no idea. He didn’t do any weird stuff, right?”

“NO, I mean, I slapped him and Sam pulled me off of him and flew me out of there, anything beyond what he did to me and you would have been getting a call from New York’s finest about bail or my court hearing for homicide. I was shocked, but if it had gone beyond what it was, I would have raged a lot harder than I did. The headline in the paper would have read a lot differently today.” Y/N responded.

“Alright, I know that yesterday was weird and I know that Nat and Wanda have had to deal with crap like this from time to time, unfortunately being an attractive woman on the team seems to let the guys out there think that it is open season to treat you ladies like meat. It is unfair and it sucks and if any of the men on the team are around just say the word and well step in and make sure the guys know it’s not okay, or step back and let you take care of it yourself, whatever you feel more comfortable with. In the meantime, take the weekend off and go to a spa or go shopping or to the movies or whatever you need to do to feel better, charge everything to Stark okay. Just let us know if you need anything alright.” Tony hugged you with one arm and kissed the top of your head. “One thing though, Lightning Legs. He flipped out when he saw this. He thought it was true and got hot and bothered. I would suggest finding him and letting him know what is really going on because the last thing you need right now is a crazy Sokovian kid acting like a jealous boyfriend right now.”

You look us at Tony and across the island to Rhodey, “What is that all about, what is he flipping out about, he brags about all the women he is into and dated back in Sokovia all the time, what does he care about what happens to me?”

“Y/N are you serious? That kid has been crazy in love with you since Sokovia. I swear I was coming close to sending you both on a mission that involved a tropical island and a case of rum soon. If he’s not staring at you, you are staring at him. It’s sickening.” Tony finished with a sarcastic eye roll. Go relax in your room, we'll take care of this. Just try to put it from your mind and well talk soon. With that, you left and headed to the elevator bank to the sleeping quarters level, feeling shitty, but better because you knew Tony would do what he could to help.

You were only in your Bedroom Suite for about half an hour when there was a somewhat frantic knocking at your door. You got up from your bed, put down the book you were currently reading, and made your way to the door, opening it, you found a seemingly tormented Pietro, he entered your quarters without an invitation and started to pace the length of your room, looking at you, Y/N could tell he needed to speak, but he was not sure where or how to start.

“Y/N, I ……. The newspaper, I saw the picture and…… Who is he? Do you like him? I mean does he make you happy? I want you to be happy……… I know that no one will ever be able to………. Not like I do………” Pietro kept starting and stopping sentences, never actually completing any, and getting agitated. You had never seen him this disconcerted before, he was always so unruffled when he would flirt with you before and this was a whole new side to him that you had never seen before. It was like he was unsure of himself and it was not something he was sure of how to process. You walked towards where Pietro was walking seemingly carrying on an argument with himself and reached out for his hands.

“Pietro, please stop, okay, please. It is not what you think, I don’t know that guy. It was fake, it was false, I don’t know him, I did not ask for that, I did not tell him it was okay to touch me or kiss me like that, I was not alright with that, He did that without my permission, and the photographer took a picture and they wrote some fake story to make it seem like I was into it. I did not want that. I don’t know him, I feel disgusted by that.” You start to rub your neck where the creep kissed you, sat down on the plush cushioned ottoman bench at the foot of your bed and start to curl into yourself to make yourself as small as possible as Pietro looks at you taking in your words.

“Wait, moja bohyňa (my goddess,) some guy you do not know came up to you and started to touch you and kiss you without your permission? No, I will not allow this, who is this man; I will go fight him right now. Žiadny odpadok sa nemôže dotknúť mojej bohyne bez jej súhlasu. Nikomu by nemalo byť dovolené pozerať sa na ňu bez toho, aby sa poďakoval bohom, že bola stvorená. (No trash can touch my goddess without her consent. No man should ever be allowed to look on her, without thanking the gods that she was created.) Are you okay?” He sat on the bench next to you giving you plenty of space, not wanting to crowd you. “I will kill this man, why would he think he could touch you, Bohyňa (Goddess,) if I had been there, I would have stopped him immediately, I am so sorry I was not there with you. “ Pietro sat staring forward with a look of disappointment in himself. You leaned over towards him putting your head on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around you pulling you into him. You snuggled your face into his chest drawing designs on his stomach and chest with your finger as he kissed your head and held you close.

“Tony is going to get the Legal department of Stark Industries to look into the paper and find out who the guy is and get him charged with harassment, and I may or may not have given him a good slap as soon as I got over my shock and realized what was happening, so I figure I should let the cops know everything in case he decided to try to press charges later for battery saying I attacked him. But I promise Pietro, there is absolutely nothing at all going on with that guy or any other guy in my life because I was sort of waiting for someone I had a sort of thing for to maybe make a move, but I didn’t think that he was interested, so I had basically given up hope and just accepted that we would only be friends, and that was okay, but I really was hoping he would let me know he felt the same.” You continued tracing symbols on Pietro's chest with her fingers nervously

Pietro put his hand gently under Y/Ns chin and raised her face so that his clear blue eyes were looking directly into Y/N/E/C, “Do I know this guy?” He asked finally deciding to go with the advice the rest of the team when they told him that Y/N was definitely into him, and Wanda assured him that yes, Y/N thought about him often and was only too nervous to make the first move, but if Pietro would, she would be receptive.

Y/N looks from Pietro's eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again and states “I am sure you have seen him around here, sometimes he’s hard to spot because he’s pretty fast, but when he stops or slows down and doesn’t try so hard to impress everyone he’s really an amazing guy. I have to say to, he is sexy as hell too, and he has this accent when he talks, uggghhh, it does things to me.” Y/N just smiles at him teasingly.

Pietro chuckles and smiling leans in but says softly before he kisses you, “Prednesiem vám básne a texty, ak ma chcete počuť hovoriť, poviem vám všetky veci, ktoré chcem s vami a s vami urobiť, ale nikdy vám nebudem môcť vyjadriť, ako veľmi vás milujem a uctievam. Teraz si môj, ako ja tvoj, navždy. (I will recite you poetry and lyrics if you want to hear me speak, I will tell you all the things I want to do to you and with you, but I will never be able to express to you, how much I love and worship you. You are mine now as I am your, forever.)” He then lays the softest and most soul-baring kiss on Y/N that she has ever felt. It was as if all the passions in the world could have been transferred to her through that kiss and as he softly caresses her face while peppering gentle kisses on her face, Y/N thinks that maybe this stupid picture is not the worst thing in the world to ever happen to her if it is what FINALLY brought her and Pietro together, she figures if nothing else, this will be a brilliant story to tell their kids someday.

Slovakian substituted for Sokovian

Y/N = Your Name

Y/L/N = Your Last Name

Y/N/E/C = Your Eye Color

[longitudinalwaveme]

Thoughts About the DCU’s Cities (and Other Nerdy Stuff)

You know, in addition to being a really terrible place to live, Gotham has some really weird demographics. And by that, I mean it seems to have no middle class. The city’s non-police officer, non-criminal population seems to be composed almost entirely out of millionaires living in mansions and poor people living in slums. Now, this is probably partially because it’s a lot easier to get drama from the very wealthy and the very poor than from the middle class, but it’s still a bit strange. It’s like the population of Gotham is 70% criminal (this group includes the corrupt wealthy businessmen and politicians, random thugs, and supervillains), 9% corrupt cops, 1% honest police officers, 10% innocent poor people, and 10% innocent rich people. Now, I haven’t read every Batman comic out there, and there are probably some counter-examples, but it’s still a strange overall trend. 

On the flip side, you’ve got Central and Keystone City, which have their own weird demographics. In the Flashes’ hometown(s), the lower and middle classes are well-represented, but unlike Gotham, which is chock-full of millionaires, Keystone/Central has a noticeable absence of the wealthy, with W.W. Wiggins and Mr. and Mrs. Rathaway serving as the major exceptions. (Wally did win the lottery at one point, but that didn’t last very long.)  Central City is more white-collar and financially stable than Keystone is, but the populations of both cities are both overwhelmingly presented as being average, everyday people.

 Gotham’s big villains are, by and large, very well-educated. While there are exceptions (like Catwoman, Killer Croc, and some of the Clayfaces), it’s still a noticeable trend. Mr. Freeze (aka Dr. Victor Fries) earned his doctorate in the field of cryogenics. Poison Ivy (aka Dr. Pamela Isley) earned her doctorate in botany. Two-Face (alias Harvey Dent), was the District Attorney of Gotham City before he became a villain. In order to become a district attorney, Harvey would have needed to earn a law degree, pass his bar exam, and obtain a Juris Doctor degree (J.D.). The Scarecrow (alias Dr. Jonathan Crane) earned a doctorate in psychology and actually taught as a professor of psychology before becoming a supervillain. Harley Quinn (alias Dr. Harleen Quinzel) likewise earned a doctorate in psychology. The Riddler (Edward Nygma), wouldn’t have needed a college degree in his older origins, where he was a carnival worker, but in recent years, he’s sometimes been presented as having worked in computer programming or with law enforcement, usually as some sort of forensics expert. He probably would’ve needed to earn at least a bachelor’s degree to get a job as a computer programmer; to be a forensic scientist he’d likewise need to get a bachelor’s degree (in, well, forensic science). Professor Hugo Strange has a degree in psychology (probably a doctorate).The third Clayface, Preston Payne, was a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs before becoming Clayface, which means that he almost certainly had a degree of some sort. The Penguin (alias Oswald Cobblepot) also has a college degree. It’s in ornithology, because of course it is. 

The Flash Rogues, by contrast? Not so much. We know Zoom (alias Hunter Zolomon) has a college degree, presumably in law enforcement and/or criminal profiling, since he worked in the FBI and later for the KCPD as a criminal profiler. Albert Desmond also went to college and got a degree (likey in physics and/or chemistry), since he works as a scientist after reforming. Professor Zoom the Reverse-Flash (alias Eobard Thawne) may have had the 25th-century equivalent of a college degree, since apparently he was a teacher at some point in his history. The Pied Piper (Hartley Rathaway) may have a college degree, but it’s not entirely clear. In the first telling of his origin, Hartley’s father claimed that he graduated from college and got a job at a prominent business firm, but in a later retelling, Hartley said that he attended and got kicked out of several colleges and never mentioned graduating from any of them. If he did graduate, it was probably with a degree in business or something, since I’m sure that’s the field his parents would’ve wanted him to go into. I also wouldn’t be surprised if the Top (Roscoe Dillon) at least attended college at some point, since he seems to be from a more upper-class family than most of the other Rogues, but there’s no concrete evidence for it. 

The rest of the Rogues almost certainly never attended college; I’d be surprised if most of them even made it through high school. Golden Glider (Lisa Snart) probably made it through high school, since she became a prominent figure skater. Heat Wave (Mick Rory) and the second Trickster, Axel Walker, are both high school dropouts, as is Captain Boomerang, Jr. (Owen Mercer). The second Mirror Master, Evan McCulloch, is probably a dropout as well, since he ran away from the orphanage at 16. The first Trickster, James Jesse, was a carny kid, so he might never have formally gone to school at all. Captain Cold, Captain Boomerang, Sr., the first Mirror Master, Sam Scudder, and Weather Wizard are more unclear (especially the latter two). I’d say that there’s pretty good odds that both Captains dropped out of high school. Sam could go either way since we know nothing about his personal life before he became the Mirror Master. Weather Wizard is probably the most likely of the four to have graduated from high school, since he seems to be from a more well-off family than many of the others and likes to at least act well-read and well-educated. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he was a dropout, either, especially since we know he was always in Clyde’s shadow and didn’t seem himself as particularly smart or special before he got the wand. So who knows.