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ad1thi · 4 years

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2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year.

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long.

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift: @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

#adi's rec list #mcdanno #stevetony #buckytony #brucetony #rhodeytony #zukka #samtony #january - june #there's so many different ships on this #and different authors #and it spans three fandoms #so hopefully you guys enjoy this!!

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marshmellowmin · 4 years

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A “Fake” Love Story Pt.1| Mafia!Doyoung AU

1st of all-I’m so sorry we haven’t posted an update to the series in so long! @smorechan and I are both in school currently and have been hyper focused on that. Combine that with quarantine writers block and you get us not updating for almost 9 months straight.

2nd of all-thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting the series! It means so much to us! We would love to hear your thoughts on the series and who you want us to write next!

3rd of all- I’ll be including a masterlist soon! It will be linked in my bio!

This series is a collaboration between myself (@marshmellowmin) and the author @smorechan. Please continue to support us as we release more related content and continue our stories. Thank you!

Doyoung: Politician. Ended up in congress when the last President was impeached, makes sure the laws work in favor of S-NCT. Was a trade dealer before becoming a politician. Is popular amongst the common population of Korea.

Years in Mafia: 10

Weapon of Choice: Billet 4x4 Snatch Rope

Body count: 3

___

*Ding*

“Thank you for coming to Cherry Blossom Co! How can I help you today?” You popped your head up from the rose bush you were plucking at the moment to look towards the door of your little flower shop. By the daisies and petunias stood a man in his early to mid twenties, shifting his eyes between the flowers before landing on your own figure.

“ Ah, I was wondering if I could get a bouquet made by tonight? Every other shop in the area is backed up with orders.” He gave a small smile before pulling his wallet out of his suit pocket “I can pay extra if it helps.”

Walking from around the massive flower pot, you wiped the dirt off of your gloves before taking them off and shoving them into the apron tied around your waist. “Don’t worry about paying extra, I can make it for you right now!” Walking over to the workbench you pulled out a basic brown wrapping paper, folding it and laying it flat down on the table. “What is the occasion? A date maybe?” You looked up to the stranger, who had moved from the daisies over to the lilies, running his fingers gently along the petals. He probably had no problem securing a date, if he wasn’t married already. Tall, handsome and a soothing voice with a calm face.

“Uh… not exactly” He set out a whispered laugh, scratching the back of his head, “ I have to meet the daughter of one of my associates tonight, I figured I should come prepared.” So he wasn’t married, nice.

“Well, do you have any idea what type of flowers you want? Big or small bouquet? And do you want a message written with it?” You pulled twine and cardstock along with lettering pens from under the counter.

“I know absolutely nothing about flowers, a decent sized bouquet and no message please, I wouldn’t know what to write,” He laughed again, this time bringing his hand to pull at his cuff sleeves. You chuckled at the man’s cluelessness, putting away the pens and cardstock. Even though he looked like a super smooth and suave guy, it was obvious he was oblivious to the world of romantics.

“Well, what kind of a meeting is it? Professional, casual, or maybe even romantic?” You asked, walking around the hydrangeas and closer to the wildflowers before finally reaching the most popular flower, the red roses.

“What kind of flowers are your favorites?” He asked, following you around your small shop, eyeing every type of flower. Surprised by the question, you paused in front of the chrysanthemums.

“I like them all, if I’m being honest. But a bouquet of different types of wildflowers and lavender are my personal favorites. I always have some on display in my living room. Do you have a favorite flower?” You figured making small talk would help hurry his decision along-and maybe come back to your shop again.

“I like that one flower, it grows a lot in America, it uhhh, it almost looks like a daisy but it’s petals are blue and purple and pink” He gave another nervous laugh, whipping out his phone this time before clicking around and unceremoniously shoving the phone into your own hands. A picture of a field, in what you assumed to be America, was on the screen, with beautiful flowers all across it.

“Those look like New England Asters!” You grinned widely, laughing. Moving back over to the wildflowers, you picked up a handful of the colorful flowers, showing them to him proudly. “I even have them in stock!”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could find them in Korea.” He followed you back through the store as you pulled different flowers from bushes and buckets before you made it back to the workbench. You continued to make small talk as you made the bouquet, finishing it much quicker than you expected.

“Here it is!” You held it up with pride, handing it over to him, which he gently took from you, a smile appearing.

“Thank you so much, here, how much do I owe you?” He went to pull out his wallet again, before you raised a hand in an attempt to stop him.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun talking to you and I love making bouquets for people who enjoy the work behind it, so consider it on the house. Anything else you need?”

“Um, I know this is gonna sound really weird, but will you come to this meeting with me? As a um, uh, a date?”

“I’m sorry?” You choked, halting all movements to put together the bouquet.

“Well, uhm I was supposed to court the daughter of the associate I’m meeting with tonight, which is why I needed the bouquet, but she’s like 16, and on top of her being way too young, she’s a total brat who’s never been told ‘no’ in her life. So you can see why I want to avoid courting her as much as possible,” the man awkwardly laughed and rubbed the nape of his neck, looking anywhere else but at you. You were shocked by his story, not quite believing that a man would actually marry off his 16 year old daughter to a man who appeared to be in his early twenties. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man’s position, and also happy he wasn’t a creepy pedophile.

“I’ll go with you, but on one condition. Tell me your name.” You smiled, tending to your bouquet once again. The man smiled brightly at your answer and chuckled a bit when he realized he had never told you his name.

“It’s Kim Doyoung. Nice to meet you,” Doyoung looked at the embroidered name on your apron right below your left collarbone, “Y/N. Should I pick you up here around 6?”

“Alright. I will see you at 6 Mr. Kim Doyoung. Doyoung nodded and the two of you spent the next few minutes asking questions about each other and how the meeting tonight would go down. As it turns out, the associate he was meeting tonight was West African and had connections all over the world, and Doyoung was trying to work with him to get some of the connections. He never mentioned what the connections were for though, which you found odd. Most men love to brag about their work experiences, while Doyoung tended to tell little pieces of his experiences. Eventually the bouquet was finished and Doyoung had to leave, something you both regretted-though the thought of seeing him again tonight kept you on your toes with excitement bubbling in your stomach.

The rest of your day was just as mundane as you had expected. Nothing more than a husband with an upset wife at home, a young man on his first date, and a girl - looking for flowers to press - came into the shop. Still, your thoughts were filled with the image of a tall and lanky brunette that was supposed to be here any minute.

5:59, you heard the chime of the front door opening, and walked in the same man from hours earlier. “Are you ready?” He asked, moving to the edge of the counter that you were behind, holding out his hand. “I promise that I will make it as adventurous as possible.” He gave out a chuckle as you timidly took the hand that he had offered.

“I can’t wait to see what a high life you live Mr. Kim.” You joked, as he led you out to his car, waiting for you to lock the door to the shop.

Driving for a while, he ended up in the front of a designer store, something you never even imagined walking into. Exiting the car, he walked to your side and opened the door, once again leading you inside of the brightly lit department store. Immediately, someone had approached the two of you, asking how they could help. Mentioning something about cocktail dresses, she led you farther back into the store and started pulling dresses off of the wall and hanging them on the door of a nearby dressing room.

“Doyoung, what’s going on right now?” You asked, eyes darting between the racks of expensive clothing and the dressing room door.

“Well, you wanted to see the high life,” he laughed “plus, you need to look the part of a senator’s girlfriend, don’t you?” Senator… A SENATOR?!

Suddenly everything started clicking together. The tall lanky brunette who was definitely too sophisticated to be walking into such a small flower shop. Kim. Kim Dongyong. The youngest man in congress, who was also known as the heartthrob of Korea. You were going on a fake date with the man women of all ages were fawning over, regardless of political alignment. What. In. The. Hell.

Zoning back into reality, Doyoung was waving his slender fingers in your face. Once he noticed a bit of sentience regained in them, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “I- I uh… I just realized that perhaps you didn’t know who I really was, it’s my fault really, I figured everyone in Seoul had at least a clue of what I looked like. That is a bit egocentric on my part. I understand if you no longer want to be my date for the evening.” His eyes were downcast, hands clasping behind him.

“No, no, no - it’s not that. I was just too slow to put all of the pieces together, and my apologies, I just don’t pay much attention to the news, it makes me sad.” You shook off the air of shock around you, regaining your composure. “Well, I guess I have to look the part to play the part, don’t I?” You laughed, looking behind you as Doyoung went to sit on the couch, ready to see whatever dress you picked out.

Soon, you were leaving that gorgeous marbled store in a new peach dress and white heels, with a clutch to match and your hair and makeup done to the nines. During the time you were being, well, pampered, Doyoung had changed into a smart casual suit with the shirt matching the peach color of your dress. He wore off white slacks and white dress shoes, looking more like a government official than ever before.

“Is there a reason we’re matching?” You asked, looking at Doyoung’s peach shirt and back to your peach cocktail dress. You had to admit, Doyoung looked unbelievably attractive in his suit, and the dress was doing you good as well.

“Don’t we look cute? I’m happy the peach looked good. You ready?” Doyoung asked, holding his arm out for you like a classic gentleman.

“I guess so. Lead the way Mr. Senator.” You grabbed Doyoung’s arm and soon enough, the two of you were in front of a very official dining hall, a sight you could only ever see in pictures on Google prior to 30 seconds ago. Holding onto Doyoung’s left arm, you walked up the steps and into the posh building. ’s grand entrance. You were greeted by a man in a traditional suit, the black blazer and slacks with a white collared shirt and a black tie made men look like penguins-and not very attractive ones. You were silently happy Doyoung hadn’t chosen to wear one.

“Ah, Senator Kim! How lovely to see you tonight. And I see you brought a plus one! Who might she be?” The man shook Doyoung’s hand and before you even had a chance to introduce yourself, Doyoung spoke on your behalf.

“Very nice to see you as well Mr. Jeon. And this lovely lady here is my-”

“Fiance.” You cut Doyoung off before he had the chance to say “girlfriend”. Why? Who knows. But you’re stuck with it-and Doyoung knew it.

“Yes, we just got engaged so forgive my fiance for jumping in. She’s quite excited.” Doyoung’s right hand covered yours and gave it a gentle squeeze, signaling to you that you needed to say something. Or at least, that’s how you perceived it.

“Ah, yes, I’m very sorry for intruding like that. I just adore being able to call myself his fiance, please forgive me.” You gave the Mr. Jeon a sweet smile, hoping your sugary tone of voice was enough for him not to get upset. Unbeknownst to you, however, Doyoung was suppressing the world’s most shit eating grin, knowing you were the one who dug yourselves this massive hole and you were gonna be the one to get yourselves out.

“No worries, how could I be angry at such a wonderful couple? Although, not just two days ago Senator Kim here was one of Korea’s most eligible bachelors. Seems a little fast paced for an engagement, no?”

“We’ve actually known each other for a couple years now, haven’t we dear?” Doyoung dragged out the little nickname, weirdly making your heart flutter a bit. You silently nodded in agreement. Mr. Jeon smiled and Doyoung made an escape attempt.

“Well it was nice seeing you here Mr. Jeon, I do hope to meet again after this. I figured my fiance and I should mingle a little bit, give me a true chance to show her off,” Doyoung smiled and shook the hand of Mr. Jeon before finally walking away with you hanging onto his elbow. You truly had no idea where he was going, but he made a beeline for somewhere and you were stuck following him, muttering hellos and nice to meet yous every time someone would try and speak with you two. Eventually Doyoung’s pace slowed and you found yourself near the back of the room by a couple security guards and a folding table for two. In true gentlemanly fashion, Doyoung pulled out a chair and motioned for you to sit before sitting himself right across from you.

“Fiance? Really? Seems kinda sus for a first date no?” Doyoung laughed, his gummy smile radiating pure sunshine at you from across the table. His tone and vocabulary completely shifted from the proper one he used with his political associates to a nonchalant and friendly one. You smiled back at him, giggling just a bit when Doyoung couldn’t quite stop his laughter.

“I have no clue. But on the brightside, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about girls wanting to court you anymore?” You shrugged your shoulders, signalling that if anyone did try, you weren’t to blame.

“That may very well be, but I can’t help but wonder what the headlines will look like once this news gets out. Maybe ‘Kim Dongyoung Engagement Announcement?’” Doyoung messed with the position of his watch on his left wrist and looked back up at you, seemingly expecting a response.

“You’re not being creative enough Mr. Kim. I bet it’ll be something like ‘Korea Loses its Most Eligible Bachelor Overnight to a Mysterious New Woman’” or something.” You laughed, thinking of many more outrageously dramatic headlines to come within the next 24 hour.

“Hm maybe. Wanna put something to that bet?” Doyoung asked, leaning ever so slightly over the table closer to you.

“Is that a challenge I hear?” You responded, mirroring his movements.

“You win, you become my real girlfriend. I win, you owe me three more dates then you can leave this entire life behind.” Doyoung sounded solemn when offering you an out, but you took this as a chance to be an outrageous flirt.

“Let’s hope I win then. We can’t add an engagement scandal to your name now can we?” You winked at the man in front of you, who only seemed stunned at your words. All you could do was stare into his eyes, an endless ocean of black drawing you further and further in-until Doyoungs phone went off. Awkwardly coughing, Doyoung answered his phone.

“What do you want? Huh? Now? Impeccable timing man. Yeah. I got it. See you at home. Bye.” Doyoung ended the call and huffed out a stressed sigh.

“Home?” You questioned. Doyoung never once mentioned his home in all your conversations together-granted you had only known him for 13 hours. But you were still curious.

“That was my brother, of sorts. Anyways we have to talk to the ambassador from West Africa now, he just arrived. Is my fiance ready?” Doyoung drug out the word fiance as if to flirt and mock you at the same time. You could only roll your eyes and smile. He held out his hand for you to take and led you to a group of officials you could only assume were the West African Ambassador’s party. The ambassador himself was first to acknowledge the two of you.

“Ah Mr. Senator Kim! What a pleasure it is to meet you again, and under much, better, circumstances. I do apologize for the actions of my guards, their aim is just terrible. And who might this lovely young lady on your arm be?” The ambassador spoke, shaking Doyoungs hand and then yours. But the one thing that caught your attention was the stress the Ambassador put on the word ‘better’ and then his mention of his guards’ terrible aim. Did they shoot at Doyoung? Why would a Senator of Korea be shot at by a West African guard? Is there something Doyoung isn’t telling you about?

“This is my fiance, Ms. Y/L/N. I do apologize for the lack of mentions about her, you see not even my staff knew about her until this morning.” Doyoung’s words were short and almost crude, his tone overly nice. It was obvious he didn’t like this man.

“Not a worry Mr. Kim. She’s lovely. You’re a lucky man. My daughter was too shy to come anyways. She’ll be heartbroken, but one can only do so much in the way of a fiance, yeah?” You had a hard time making sense of his words, half due to his heavy accent and half due to the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of Doyoung being shot at.

“I do appreciate the understanding, Ambassador. Now, do you have it?” Doyoung asked, eyeing you as if you were listening in on a conversation you shouldn’t be hearing. You were just thoroughly confused about everything happening. Doyoung could’ve been shot and now he’s cryptically asking for something? There’s definitely more to this Senator than meets the eye.

“Only if you have what I asked for, Mr Kim.” The Ambassador responded, signalling to someone in his party to do something, because the minute the Ambassador’s hand moved, the man nodded and left as if he was on a mission.

“You should find that it’s exactly where you need it. We’re very thankful for this, Ambassador. Should you ever need help in the future, don’t hesitate to ask.” Doyoung shook the Ambassadors hand one more time before returning his arm to your waist, pulling you closer into his side. You were now clueless as to who this “we” was that Doyoung mentioned. Did it have to do with the brother-of-sorts he mentioned earlier? One of the Ambassador’s other men leaned over and whispered something to him, making the Ambassador smile.

“You are all set Mr. Kim. Thank you for the generosity. We will definitely be in contact should we ever need help.” With that, Doyoung smiled and turned on his heels towards the door. You wanted to ask Doyoung so many questions but before you could he pulled out his phone and opened a news app.

“Looks like you won this bet, Ms. Y/L/N. I do look forward to our future together,” Doyoung said as he shoved the phone screen in your face. You had to hold his shaky wrist to stabilize the words enough to read the latest headline “Kim Dongyoung, Korea’s Most Eligible Bachelor, Stolen by Mysterious New Woman.

#nct #nct127 #kim doyoung #kim doyoung nct #kim doyoung nct127 #nct2020 #doyoung nct #kim doyoung fanfic #nct imagines #kim doyoung imagines #mafia au #nct dream #nct u #nct mafia au #kim doyoung mafia au #kim dongyoung

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gingyboo · 3 years

Text

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

It was surprisingly simple tracking down the dark-haired man. Redwing managed to find CCTV footage showing the man entering and exiting the same river side apartment. Bucky and Sam had been hauled up monitoring the surveillance from a cheap B&B on the out skirts of the city for the past two days. Bucky lay reclined on his twin bed, gently tossing his knife in the air and catching it. He flipped the compact mirror open and shut. He’d spoken to Nancy earlier, she’d explained a theory Shuri had over the depth of their soulmate bond and how she’d managed to both summon and call off the Winter Solider. It made him feel uneasy, that without meaning to Nancy had managed to bring him out, if she did it once she might do it again.

Sam entered the room and sitting on the edge of the adjacent bed. He pulled the suitcase out from under it.

“It’s go time co-worker, he just left.” Sam looked over at him, he pulled out the Captain America suit. He’d been tailing the man himself, found he visited a local restaurant in the evenings. More CCTV footage found this to be a nightly occurrence. Therefore, they’d hatched a plan. “you good for this?” Sam called over to Bucky. He forced himself out of his reclined position, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

“Yeah, let’s do this.” His attempt at enthusiasm was poor, he was tired, he hadn’t slept well since that night and he could feel the tiredness in his bones.

“Focus Buck, remember who we’re doing this for.” Bucky shot him an exasperated smile. “There he is, come on.”

They made their way through Amsterdam silently, hugging the shadows, as swamis of cyclists made their way through the early evening traffic. The apartment was in an old building with an ornate terrace. On the front there was a concierge, so Sam and Bucky made their way up to the balcony, Bucky slipped the lock on the door with his knife and they made their way inside. It was a modest size apartment, with modern furnishings and a plethora of screens and files adorning a large desk in the corner. Bucky made his way through the rooms, gun drawn, there was a small hallway off which the living room they’d entered through branched. There was also a small bathroom, a kitchenette and a bedroom with only a covered mattress on the floor. Bucky stared at the mattress for a moment, it reminded him of Bucharest. Deciding they were alone he circled back to the living room. Sam was running his hands across the files on the desk.

“What’s he got there?” Bucky asked over his shoulder.

“If you let me finish reading, I’ll let you know.” Sam held up a hand concentrating. Bucky clenched his jaw impatiently. A minute later he spoke again, “it’s all in here,” he held up one of the files. “Transcripts of some sort, ‘Cartwright will join us if we take the girl.’ This must have been the communication Katima and her team intercepted.” Bucky looked in the file he showed him, his stomach twisted, there was a picture of Nancy, she looked younger, slightly softer round the edges, her hair shorter but her smile just a stunning. She stood by her father’s side, her brother, in full uniform, stood tall next to her mother. Larissa Cartwright was tall like her children, with darker hair and long manicured fingernails. “There’s more, conversations describing her movements and activities. Timings for Swan Lake at the royal opera house.” Bucky felt rage burning inside him, anger boiling in his head. He breathed deeply, Sam noticed his shaking breath. “It’s alright, we’ll bring him in, he won’t get to her.”

“I swear to god, any of them lay a finger on her, I don’t think I’ll be responsible for my actions.” A voice inside him roared in agreement, sending a shiver down his spine.

Shortly after their search of the files the front door clicked. Bucky spun round instantly, finger pressed to his lips and gun drawn again. Sam raised his eyebrows at him, exasperated. The light came on before the man entered the room, as he did Bucky pinned him straight against the wall.

“Hello again.” Bucky said increasing his pressure on the man’s neck with his vibranium arm. Up close the man looked younger and smaller. He was wearing a long black trench coat, his skin once again seemed too high a contrast against his almost black hair. His jaw was clenched tight and he looked defiantly up at Bucky.

“Back off you bastard!” He spat back in Bucky’s face, pushing against him to no avail. Bucky kicked out the back of his knees and the man fell at his feet.

“Who are you?” Bucky demanded. He grabbed the file from Sam shoving it under the man’s nose. “What do you want with Martin Cartwright?”

———————————————————————————————

“Your brother was a very private person.” Shuri noted, scrolling through the feed on her screen, “No social media what so ever, no pictures of him on any of his friend’s pages no dating apps either.” Shuri looked quite disappointed.

“That kind of stuff just wasn’t important to him, and Kit didn’t really have any friends towards the end.” Nancy admitted. “He was quite obsessed with becoming the perfect solider, he cut everyone out, including me.” Nancy remembered the change well, his every breath was for queen and country, he came back only for fleeting visits, Nancy never saw him out of his naval uniform. Her and Shuri had been looking for days for any record of his final mission, though they had found nothing yet, in fact they had found no records for him after he moved units. They found no record of any unit like that which Kit had described. Shuri had moved onto scanning the wider web. They were yet to find anything there either.

“Did he ever mention anyone he worked with at this training unit?” The princess asked. Nancy wracked her brains, Kit had barely spoken to her in those last few months. One of her biggest regrets was not pushing him harder, not having something to remember as the last thing they’d spoken of.

“No, sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“It’s alright, it’s just very suspicious. There’s nothing here, it’s like he stopped existing the moment he joined this unit.” Shuri suggested.

“What if we looked for others, umm, similarly qualified individuals, who might have been recruited to this unit, if Kit’s record at that point is missing maybe his isn’t the only one. If there were others maybe they weren’t so secretive.”

“Good thinking, I’m on it.” She started typing frantically, records appearing and disappearing on the screen. “This program should find records with those similarities.” They both watched the screen with bated breath.

The search took a couple of hours, Shuri suggested Nancy train some more whilst they waited. She tended to like Nancy to train multiple times a day, always being monitored. Sometimes Nancy would catch her frowning at the statistics on her tablet.

“I’ve had a new theory.” She said this time after a few minutes watching Nancy running on the treadmill.

“Yeah, tell me it doesn’t involve more running.” Nancy said, catching her breath as she walked over to Shuri. In her hand she held out a set of wireless headphones.

“I thought we’d explore the subconscious theory, I think your capabilities might lie there.”

“Why are you so sure I have these capabilities?”

“You might not see it but there are things I’ve seen that would suggest you’re not so ordinary.” She waved away any further comment from Nancy and lead her towards the targets. “I want you to relax, listen to the music, and then, when you get the signal, throw the knife.” Nancy looked at her like she was crazy but Shuri only grinned, nodding enthusiastically. The music started in her ear and Nancy instinctively tensed up, Tchaikovsky, the same music from that night at the ballet. Nancy tried to relax, she breathed deeply closing her eyes. She stood there for many minutes, her breathing settled, and she twirled the blade lightly across her knuckles. She stretched her neck out from side to side. As the music built to its climax a loud klaxon sounded. Nancy’s hand shot out on instinct. The knife spun through the air and landed on the target, imbedded to the hilt, dead centre. Nancy’s head snapped round to Shuri who was clapping her hands.

“That was a fluke.” Nancy insisted.

“No, no it wasn’t, look.” She turned her tablet around, “See the rise in the subconscious, then when the klaxon sounded how it fell after. The subconscious is most active in dreaming or when relaxed. When you felt threatened, you threw the knife, no active thought.” They tested it again, first throwing knives, 5/5 hit the exact same spot. They also tested her running, much to her displeasure. With the music playing she reached higher speeds then ever before, Shuri mapped the progress on her tablet.

“But that doesn’t explain what happened with Bucky.” Nancy said after removing the headphones. Experiments over for the day, her and Shuri made their way back to the lab.

“You were asleep weren’t you, possibly dreaming, if you felt threatened perhaps your mind reached for the only weapon at your disposal.”

“And that was Bucky” Nancy froze for a minute, “I was dreaming, I was dreaming of Kit, I kept losing him.”

“You were distressed, the Winter Solider sensed that and reached through Bucky to stop the threat.” Shuri kept explaining, light building in her eyes from realisation as she pieced together the new information.

“Oh Bucky,” she croaked out. He thought he’d tried to kill her, he’d really been trying to save her, and worse because her head had asked him two. He would always try to protect her but if she had abilities like his, if she could control them, utilise them, then maybe she could defend herself. Maybe she could be more than just a socialite. Images formed in her head, her and Bucky fighting side by side. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. A chance, a gift of sorts from destiny. She could defend the world, just like Bucky and Sam.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a notification on Shuri’s tablet. Match found. They looked between each other before approaching the large monitor.

The record was displayed on the screen.

Duncan Everett

Nancy didn’t recognise the name, but she knew the face. It was the dark-haired man.

#bucky barnes #the winter solider #sam wilson #captain america #mcu #mcu fit #soulmate

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

Text

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Eight | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 8/24

Warnings: Just a bad word or two. Otherwise, intense amounts of fluff!

AN: This chapter gave me all sorts of fits and is nerve-wracking for me to post. Mostly because I’m putting a ton of pressure on myself. But whatever. Huge shoutout to @lucyyannabel for being a precious human being and beta-ing for me and helping me fill some plot holes. You da bomb.com. I also pulled a ton about cars from this helpful article and this article was referenced for the Harlem Hellfighters. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Seven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky checks your distinctive handwriting for what feels like the thousandth time, double checking the address of the garage. When he thinks he’s only got a few blocks to go he picks up his pace. There’s really no need to rush, he’s going to be on time. After seeing you in his dreams and talking about you all day, intentional and not, he really just wanted to be with you.

A freshly-painted white building comes into view, the numbers on your note matching the ones painted in red block letters on the side. There’s several driveways leading into the garage; even with the rolling doors down, he can still see a flurry of activity through their windows. On his way to the front door he passes shiny cars parked out front underneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Durst & Co. Automotive”.

Cautiously he enters the sparse waiting area, unsure where you’d be waiting for him. It’s clean, tidy, with bare-minimum furniture of chairs and a reception desk. Looking out a window leading into the work area he sees a large room filled with popped hoods, tools scattered, and workbenches covered in spare parts. After a minute of awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in the empty room he hears a roar of laughter from a door behind the desk. Checking his surroundings one more time he slides around the desk. Hoping the door leads to the actual garage and not something terrifying or inappropriate, Bucky takes his chances and pushes it open. The chatter and laughter grows louder. He hears your voice and suddenly his feet are moving to follow it.

Seems to be organized chaos, Bucky thinks to himself. Looks were deceiving because the activity inside hinted at a much larger operation than what he had expected. The cars he passes aren’t junkers, they seem to come from a solid, well-paying clientele. Cars are on lifts, some engines have been raised out of the bodies. . . the only thing missing was people.

He rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. You’re leaning against a car that’s hood is popped, one saddle shoe-clad foot resting against its grill. Your stained shirt matches the bright red bandana wrapped around your head. Hands are in the pockets of your denim overalls, sass painted on your lips. Mechanics in coveralls surround you, attention arrested by your story.

Again, the garage is filled with howls of mirth - a reaction to a witty punchline, he’s sure. He can’t help but admire you from afar. You’re more relaxed than he’s ever seen you yet you still maintain an air of assuredness that holds its own among the group of men. A smile comes easy to your fresh face. All you really need is your sparkling eyes to highlight your naturally stunning self. And then those eyes meet his and the sparkle seems to intensify.

“Oh hey, Bucky!” You wave him over and then he’s encircled by strangers and a wave of uneasiness washes through him. All eyes are on him, obviously sizing him up. Bucky makes a conscious effort not to puff out his chest. “Boys, this is my. . . this is Bucky. Bucky, these are the boys.” He receives a litany of greetings from the large group to which he tries to smile and memorize all the names he can.

“Alright boys, back to work. Sassafras has distracted us long enough.” A gruff voice breaks through and prompts the other mechanics to drift back to their tasks. A man with a head of salt-and-pepper - well, mostly salt - steps forward, Bucky noticing a slight limp to his otherwise confident walk. “So this is the guy I’ve been hearin’ about.” He smiles a big, teeth shining bright white against his dark brown skin. Towering over you, he slings an arm around your shoulder in a familial hug.

“You’ve barely heard a thing, Harve,” you retort, leaning in to his embrace.

“Is that the way you’re supposed to treat an old friend when he’s doing you a favor? No. Your momma taught you better than that.” He turns back to Bucky, eyes wrinkling kindly behind his spectacles. “Harvey Durst.” His hand moves from your shoulder and h offers it to Bucky, who grasps and shakes it.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Heard you served, right?”

“Was in the 107th for a while, moved into special ops the last few years.”

Harvey tosses a thumb at himself. “Served in the 369th Regiment from ‘17 ‘til ‘19.”

That number, why is that number familiar. “Wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows. “You were a Harlem Hellfighter?” Blatant pride beams from your features as you watch Harvey bob his head reluctantly. “My father’s unit was in France around the same time, he said y’all were tough as nails. Never lost a trench, right?”

“Or a man to capture or a foot of ground to the enemy,” the veteran recites, as if he’s spoken the same information time and time again.

“Colonel Chester Phillips always spoke highly of your regiment. You’re the stuff of legends, sir.”

“The same could be said about you, being Captain America’s right-hand man.”

Your eyes immediately drop to examine the floor while Bucky feels heat in his cheeks. Seems like Harvey had heard a thing or two. Clearing your throat, you step away from Harvey and slightly closer to Bucky.

“Just kept him out of trouble, mostly. Nothin’ special.”

“I hear that. I fought alongside Miss Sassafras’ Grandpappy in the trenches,” Harvey points to you. “Talk about bull-headedness.”

“Sassafras?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting to you as his apprehension gives way to a grin.

“Oh yeah. When she was a youngin’ and I visited to chat with William she was always gathering up sassafras flowers and bringin’ ‘em to me as a gift. Was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Then she really grew into the “sass” part.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky directs his grin back to you.

With an eyeroll you explain, “My grandfather enlisted right before he would’ve aged out. He’d owned the shop way before the war, my mom practically grew up here. Harvey has been around as long as I can remember.”

“Only out of the kindness of your grandpappy’s heart.” Harvey shifts his focus back to Bucky in explanation. “Once we got shipped home, I was out of work and William offered to teach me his trade. He graciously passed the shop on to me when he retired. Thankfully the neighborhood put a lot of stock in William’s character so I wasn’t totally run out of business when I took over.” Bucky grimaces in sympathy.

“Good thing people had the sense to see a good man who does good work,” you mutter, a bite to your tone.

“Alright ‘Fras, don’t get worked up. It’s not worth it, darling. Almost all the other mechanics here are veterans, so if you ever need anything just ask. We’ve got each others’ backs here too, ya know?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Now,” Harvey’s voice drops an octave as he peers over his glasses at Bucky. “You keepin’ everything all honorable between the two of you?”

You choke on air before planting your hands to Bucky’s chest, urging him to take several steps back. “Thanks Uncle Harvey, we’ve got work to do, talk to you later!” Several more steps away and you groan. “Sorry about that. He can be a little protective.”

Bucky shakes his head, not sure whether he wants to laugh out loud or have the earth swallow him whole. It was a toss up. “‘Uncle’, huh? So he’s practically family.”

“I’ve known him my whole life. He’s not old enough to be my grandfather’s brother, too old to be my mom’s brother. Uncle just suits him best, ya know?”

“You didn’t tell me I was meeting family today,” Bucky teases, knocking a hip into yours.

“Steady on, he’s not technically family.”

He scoffs. “Technicalities.”

You face Bucky completely, taking him in for the first time that day. “Hi,” you hum.

“Hi,” Bucky practically beams. “Glad to see you again.”

“We were together less than 24 hours ago, huh?” Your lopsided grin whispers bashfulness. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Y’all gonna stand there giving each other googly eyes or are you goin’ to work on my cars?” a shout from Harvey reaches you both from his office.

“Mind your business!” You holler back before burying your face in your hands. Bucky can’t help but chuckle, his own relaxed state puzzling him. Seeing you a little embarrassed was more endearing than he thought it would be. “Anyway,” you perch your hands on your hips. “Let’s get you an apron and get to work. We’ll start with the basics.”

Passing a workbench you snag him an apron as you approach an engine that’s been lifted out of a car by chains. Trailing behind you, Bucky ties the apron strings and stops on one side of the machinery, you rounding the other side.

“How much do you know about engines?” you ask, zero judgment in your voice, only asking a basic question to find a jumping off point.

“Next to none. I know math and science are involved, which I’m okay at. But treat me like an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Bucky.”

“Never said I was. Just told you to treat me like one.” He winks at you which only earns a narrowing of your eyes.

“Anyway. . .” Your tone turns all business, motioning to the engine. “Cars have internal combustion engines, right? So it takes a fuel source, gas, and combines it with air. It compresses and ignites the mixture. A bunch of little explosions happen that cause these pistons,” you point toward a row of metal cylinders, “to move up and down. The pistons are attached to this crankshaft.” You move your hand to gesture the connection. “That motion makes the crankshaft turn. Then the crankshaft transfers that energy to the transmission, which ultimately powers the wheels to the car. Got it?”

“Got it. I think,” he amends, turning the process over in his mind, pieces falling into place after a few repetitions. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good. Now onto the fun stuff,” you smile a little wolfishly, signalling to Bucky that he was in for a long day of lots of information.

You run through the more technical version, explaining the physics and practicalities as well as the failings of the engine. Next, you explain what a tune-up would look like for a typical 1940s model. Soon you’ve drug him over to another car, making him clumsily replace the spark plug with your smaller hands guiding his. Next you set the mixture on the carburetor, fit new plug wires, and remind him these things should be checked on every 30,000 miles.

Currently he’s watching you struggle with a particularly rusty bolt, arm muscles straining as you finally break it free with your wrench. Your hair is a disaster, to put it kindly. Flying this way and that, becoming more untamable by the moment. But you’re so charming in this role of teacher that it only enhances your allure. Shaking his head, Bucky reminds himself to listen to your well-intentioned stream of information.

“What’s being produced right now are basically 1942s with tiny modifications. As you know, almost all production of civilian vehicles was halted in favor of supporting the war effort. So designers were stuck with getting something “new” on the assembly line as soon as peace was official. They’ve added some new body colors and a fancier bumper. We told them in the factory for years that they needed to seal the ignition so water can’t leak in and they’re just now starting to listen based on that brand new 1946 over there,” you wave vaguely behind you, nose still stuck beneath the hood.

“So what was your training like?” Bucky inquires, handing over a tool you’d asked for, hoping it was the right one.

With a hum you start, “My learning process was accelerated because of the war. It involved a ton of reading and studying, as well as a couple weeks of intensive training at a factory upstate. Usually a mechanic would need to find a shop where they could work at the lowest level doing the most rudimentary of repairs, like replacing the spark plugs like you did earlier. As they’re doing that they keep studying and move up through the system. Some people start at the bottom because they want to own their own shop or become a salesman. But most of the guys here just want to work with their hands and make an honest living doing something they don’t hate. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it would look like for you to start down this track.”

Leaning back you gratefully accept the rag Bucky offers, rubbing some excess oil off your hands.

“Was this too overwhelming? I know I just threw a ton of information at you. Hope it didn’t scare ya. Here, triple check my work for me.”

Bucky bends to the engine. “Overwhelming, yeah. Scary? Not really. You replaced this belt, right?” At your assent his fingers trail over it, inspecting it’s fastenings. “It’s interesting work. Don’t really know how to move forward with it, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t forget about the third attachment,” you remind as he starts to back away. “I think someone here mentioned that the V.A. provides job counseling to veterans.”

“I think you may be right. They tell you that stuff when you get discharged but at that point all I was thinking about was Ma’s cooking and hugging my sisters. Worth asking about though.”

A smile graces your lips. “I don’t blame you one bit. All good?”

“All good,” he affirms. With Bucky’s help you set the hood in place, propping your elbows on the surface to take a breather.

“Then that’s all I really had in mind for today. There’s a lot more but you’ll pick it up fairly quickly.” He thinks it’s only been an hour, maybe two at the most. Then he notices the shadows at his feet and realizes the sun is slanting through the garage windows. You must notice Bucky looking outside because you follow his gaze. “It can’t be sunset already. Have we really been here that long?”

“Guess so.”

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, leaving a giant smudge of grease in its stead. Bucky finds it too endearing to tell you anything. After a glance around the garage you say incredulously, “When did everyone leave?”

Bucky doesn’t remember when the garage had emptied either. Neither did he recall the shop becoming so clean - almost spotless. Someone had turned on a radio; the crooning of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet floats toward you from a neighboring table. The sound of Harvey shuffling around his office is the only other sign of life in the building.

“I feel like I’ve done a full day of PT,” Bucky groans as he arches his back. “Who knew leaning over an engine all day could hurt so much?”

“There’s one way to loosen up sore muscles,” you hint cheekily. You hold out a hand, waiting for him to take it. “Dance with me.”

He grips your fingers but resists your tug away from the car. “I dunno, I’m out of practice.”

“C’mon, it’s just a sway to a sweet song.”

Bucky hesitates. His last few attempts at dancing were more akin to a stumble than anything else. He can vividly remember his first night out on the town in a peaceful New York City. He can see the blonde who’d herded him to the dance floor, her grimaces as he crushed the tops of her brand new shoes. She’d been kind enough to his face but had excused herself only a minute into the song. He hadn’t danced since.

He gulps. “I might step on your toes.”

“That’s alright,” you shrug animatedly. “I may step on yours.”

There’s something so genuine, so earnest about you that he can’t help but follow your lead.

Timidly he wraps an arm around your waist, reminding himself to keep a respectful distance. Your other hand grips his bicep lightly as you step into him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to each other. Breathing the same air, sharing space. It should feel awkward. But it only feels right. His hand on your waist snakes further across your back bringing you chest-to-chest. You lean a head to his shoulder, respectful distance be damned.

S’just a dance. He reminds himself.

Taking your suggestion, he simply sways back and forth to the tune. Shifting from foot to foot you follow his feet in a slow circle.

It’s effortless.

No one’s toes gets squished. In fact, Bucky feels like he’s floating on air.

You share a sweet silence. He looks down and notices your eyes are closed. If asked why, he wouldn’t be able to answer why his chest felt so tight.

He sighs your name, prompting your eyes to open. “I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a week.” The words slip out almost involuntarily, like an impulse. For a moment his chest tightens even more, afraid you wouldn’t react kindly.

You continue to gaze up at him and say softly, “Technically we’ve known each other longer than that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. . .” your voice goes even softer, “I really do.”

Fear releases its grip on him prompting him to pull you ever-so-slightly closer.

Neither of you know when the song ended but you are jarred out of your reverie when the radio host’s jabber breaks the spell. Moments later a new, upbeat song starts up. Sounds like Glenn Miller, Bucky thinks, foot already tapping to the bouncing trumpets and steady tap of the bass.

With boldness flowing through him like adrenaline he gives you a cheeky smile. “Let’s see if we have more than a sway in us, huh?” He pulls away from you only to give you a quick turn so your back is to his chest, arms connected and crossed over your stomach.

“What happened to being out of practice?” you sigh over your shoulder.

“Only way to be in practice is to practice, right?” Your only response is a giggle and you twirl away before coming back to him - feet flying across the concrete floor.

It is by no means perfect. Every once in a while you bump into each other or take a turn too hard. But your laughter soothes the hesitancy in him, reminds him that dancing isn’t about being perfect with someone, but just being with someone.

The song is swelling and muscle memory leads Bucky, sending you into spins over and over and over again, just enough to make you a little dizzy.

“Bucky, the oil-!” It’s happening before he can stop it. He’s spun you directly into a puddle left behind from a leak. Your foot flies through the slick, disrupting your already precarious balance. Down you fall - hard - taking Bucky tumbling with you to the ground.

He helplessly watches it happen in slow motion. Feels your woosh of breath escape when his full weight lands squarely on top of you. Rolling to the floor he scrambles to his knees beside you, words rushing out of him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay, did you hurt anything? What a fuckin’ idiot, I shouldn’t’ve - are you alright?”

Your chest is heaving, doing its best to recover some of the air that had been knocked out of you. Slowly you nod in response to his question, lashes fluttering as you seem to steady yourself.

Then you’re laughing.

A deep, unbridled, straight-from-the-belly laugh that brings Bucky back down to earth, reassures him that you can’t be hurt too badly. It doesn’t stop there - he’s fairly sure you snort in the midst of your giggles but he’s too overcome with his own chuckles to be certain. Your joy is infectious and soon he’s out of breath himself.

As the laughter subsides his hand clasps yours to pull you up to a seated position, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. You seem fine, maintaining the grip on his hand as you join the vertical world again. You’re smiling that small smile of yours. The smile that caught his eye in the first place.

Your thumb swipes over the back of his hand and it registers just how close you are. Close enough for him to see the depth in the color of your eyes. To see every individual eyelash, to count each freckle he finds.

In a similar fashion your eyes rove his face. No doubt thinking what he’s thinking, wanting what he wants.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes raggedly.

“You better,” you gasp, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Before he can lean down fully you’ve met him halfway, soft lips all his for the taking as your eyes slip shut.

Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. A peck to the cheek, a smooch saying goodbye, a brief moment to show affection. Given freely, barely a blip on the radar. Kissing wasn’t something Bucky thought about often. He had enjoyed his fair share of kisses, sure.

But this. No other kiss has triggered the emotions swelling in his chest like this one. It’s almost as if he’s feeling sunshine on his skin for the very first time. Like a lamp has been lit in a room shrouded by black, glowing fiercely in darkness. Somehow he learns so much about you with this kiss. You’re soft to his chapped, pliant to his firm. Warmth to his breeze.

He leans back to catch his breath allowing his forehead to rest against yours. You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, mouth twisting sweetly.

“Hey lovebirds!” Startled, you jump away from each other. “I’m locking up, some of us have dinner waiting on us,” Harvey shouts from the office.

Grinning at your embarrassed moan Bucky helps you to your feet. “Since we don’t have dinner waiting for us, wanna catch a bite?”

With a raised brow you look down at your clothes. “I’m a mess and now covered in motor oil, no decent place would let me in the door.”

“Truly decent places welcome everyone.”

“Shut up.”

“Then at least let me buy ya a hot dog on the way home,” he compromises with a grin.

“No, it’s okay, my place is out of your way.”

“It’s almost dark, I’m not letting you walk home by yourself.”

“Bucky I can’t be that much of an imposition-”

He grabs a hand you’re waving wildly as you try to refuse. “Are you trying to get rid of me? ‘Cause it ain’t workin’.”

“Never,” you reply with a huff. “Fine.”

After your goodbye hug to Harvey, Bucky shakes his hand again before thanking him for his time.

“Get her home safe, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky ducks his head, fingers threading in yours.

Moving to leave the garage, Bucky stops you. “Hold on,” he snags a clean rag from a shelf. “May I?” he motions to your face. After you nod he gently wipes away the grease you’d relocated to your forehead during your work. He shows you the stain left behind, can’t stifle a grin when you look horrified.

“How long has that been there?” you ask incredulously then hold up a hand before he can respond, “You know what, don’t tell me.”

Spring may be on its way to summer but the evening still carries a light chill, tempting Bucky to keep you even closer than usual. Somewhere along the way you wrap your other hand around his arm, basking in the safety of being able to be this close to someone.

“I have a question for you,” he rasps.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

“Can I call you Sassafras now?”

“No.”

Chapter Nine

Tags:

@moderapoppins @lookwhatyoumademequeue @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @thinkwritexpress-official @fearless2tobeme @laneygthememequeen @past-perfect-future-tense @drhughgrection @wildsageleon @promarvelfangirl @connorshero @anditwasjustus @p3nny4urth0ught5 @just-add-butter @usernamemingmei @the-canary @thorfanficwriter @blueskiesbleakeyes @silverwing2522 @satansmushroom @nerd-without-a-cause @barnesrogersvstheworld @firewolf-marvels @reginaphlanageadams @kiliakit @forsaken-letters @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @part-time-patronus @biavastarr @ellaenchanted91 @ihopeyousteponarosepetal @handfulof-roses @bloatedandlonly @barnestruck @itsbuckysworld @captainsbuck @writemarvelousthings @havanaangel @animeflower26 @igotkatiepowers @clockworkherondale @iamthemaskhewears @buckybarneshairpullingkink @abovethesmokestacks @ursulaismymiddlename @hiddles-rose @thisismysecrethappyplace @palaiasaurus64 @fanfic-diaries @fangirlfiction @creideamhgradochas

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfiction #beka writes #All We've Got is Time #Chapter Eight #james buchanan barnes

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thecitylightshow · 6 years

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WIP Picking

Okay, I know I don’t have many interactive followers, but I need opinions. I have several Big Fics underway, and I don’t know which one I want to concentrate on first. So, I’m asking y’all to vote (and I will shamelessly tag a bunch of people who’s opinions I would love, sorry not sorry). The options are…

(beware the cut!!)

Softly, With Starry Eyes

He reaches out to tuck a fallen curl behind Tony’s ear. Tony can feel the nerves sitting in Steve’s gut, but all he can feel is relief.

Maybe this won’t be so hard.

“Dinner.” Steve says, breaking Tony out of his thoughts. “We should have dinner first.” He’s smiling, and his fingers are still tracing Tony’s cheek. Tony reaches up to intertwine them with his own.

“Dinner,” he echoes. “We can do that.”

A shared emotions soulmate AU in which everyone expects Steve and Tony to angst over the situation and continue their antagonist barely-even-co-workers style relationship for Some Time, but what actually happens is a healthy embarkment into a strong and trusting romantic relationship.

I did say this is an AU.

Featuring; Tony actually wants a soulmate, the two most stubborn individuals on the planet, some rare-pairs because fight-me, and really not that much angst at all.

Tony/Steve, Clint/Bruce/Bucky, Rhodey/Nat, Jan/Pep, Thor&Loki.

thank you, kind ghost

A long ass fic that leads into a complex universe, injecting a large supernatural element into the MCU universe. Written for @kiernaserea, it features Ghost!Steve haunting Tony as he grows up, and them eventually being able to get to know eachother.

Large focus on slow-build Steve-Tony, Steve&Maria friendship, and Tony becoming the Tony we all know and love.

Tony fusses over the bots quietly, but eventually he turns to where Steve stands, his hand not in the sling coming to rest on Dum-E’s head. “So you’re my kind ghost?” he asks, and his voice is shaking. “Steven fucking Rogers…” he murmurs around a smile so fragile, that Steve can’t help but quip;

“There should be a Captain in there somewhere.” and though his voice is breaking, Tony smiles and he’s laughing, and perhaps it’s slightly hysterical but the haunted look fades a little behind his eyes. Steve smiles back easily and lets Tony laugh. He stops eventually, propping himself up on Dum-E - who’s more than happy to stay there and be a prop - and for a moment he just stares at Steve.

“Do I want to know?” he asks after a moment, and swallows hard. “My mother-” he stops himself. Steve wishes he could pull the man into a hug.

“She wants to see you.” Steve settles on, when it's clear that Tony’s not going to speak. “But she doesn't want to make this worse.” Tony's eyes go wide.

“What the fuck is going on? Because you- you and her are very dead.” he freezes then. “Did I die, is that it? Or is this some form of punishment-?”

“No! No, it's-” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You're not dead, Tony. I don't know how you can see us now, but you can, so that's a, that's a, a thing.” Tony's got one eyebrow raised at him. “You're not crazy, I swear.” Steve tells him, because he knows what Tony is thinking.

“So I'm just supposed to accept that Captain America decided to spend his afterlife haunting the fuck out of me?”

“If you could that would really speed this explanation up.”

The Soulmate Situation

A poly-soulmate, names on skin fic, where Tony, Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Bruce all share a bond. Slow-build, mild emotional angst, but mostly just them feeling out each other’s broken edges and getting together. It’s got a lot to it with no substance, at present. A snippet of the prologue, to give a feel…

Time likes to play games.

Meeting soulmates two and three is something of a clusterfuck.

Steve Rogers isn’t dead.

(He thought he was though, he’d made peace with that, and now he’s in a future and screaming that he shouldn’t be here even if most of his soulmates are).

There’s a god in the room and another out to get them, and oh, Bruce Banner’s smirk is adorable but his walls are up (- and he’s furiously trying to barricade himself up behind them, muttering this is bad this is bad this is bad-) and he’s tense as hell. Tony’s never felt more alone in a crowded room that he does right now.

Three names in touching distance, and about as far away as they could be. No friends.

No allies.

He’s never been called a team player, and maybe this is why.

It’s all any of them ever wanted to be.

Tony looks down, and they look up. Nuke in hand, Tony’s 99% assured of his own imminent destruction. Time will take him back too soon. He wonders if there are words.

They all do.

I’m sorry seems quite prevalent. Forgive me, hot on its heels.

They’ll be Tony’s dying words, if he does speak, but he’s no poet and there’s nothing worthy that he can make pass his lips.

There’s worse things to die for, Tony thinks to himself, and then the universe is stretching out before him. He closes his eyes to the endless abyss and the armada beyond with a smile and a not-quite prayer, and hope that wherever he’s destined for James will be waiting.

Steve smiles like the sun when he wakes on a roar, and Tony thinks to himself there are worse things to live for.

Cross My Heart

Based, with permission on a complex ass idea of @goodmorningbeloved’s that I was very eager for, planned, and then had a very bad drop in mental health. If you vote for this, I’m going to need help. I can’t do this fic alone. The opening, to give a feel…

It starts like this.

Tony glances down at his wrist. He’s in the rubble of New York where he was before. The same people are gathered around – he was gone for months, but he was gone for less than a moment. He’s not the only one surprised.

The X is still there.

A mark as if drawn on in black ink, like he’s seen on the skin of so many people and never seen on his own. He’s still waiting for it to disappear, he realises, but it’s not fading. There’s small changes happening to the situation; whatever he changed, it’s helping. The X isn’t fading.

He looks up, and finds Bruce before he finds him.

“Time is more linear than we thought.” Tony says, and then he starts to laugh.

For Tony, it starts like this.

Tony feels like he’s committing some form of cardinal sin.

It’s not unusual for the crossed – those with their soulmate X’s – to sleep with other people, even the uncrossed. It would be silly not to, so often people don’t know who caused the X to appear on their wrists.

But this is Captain America.

Fuck that, it’s Steve Rogers, who’s damn well meant to be untouchable to someone like Tony. He’s just so touchable though, and he started it.

When this all comes crashing down around his ears, Tony will remember. Steve started this.

For Steve, it starts like this.

He walks fast, avoiding people on the streets as they bustle past, avoids the alleyway and- wait. Tony walks back a few steps, and before it honestly registers what he’s seeing, he’s calling out “hey!” The two taller men step apart for a moment, and Tony gets a flash of blond hair from the guy they were kicking the shit of before they turn to him. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Maybe without ganging up on him like cowards?” The men sneer, glancing at each other, and with a sigh Tony holds open his jacket to show them the revolver he’s got tucked in his belt. “Pull the other one, fellas.” He says – god it’s only been a month and he’s picking up the slang in a way he never had when it was just Steve to learn it from. The men pale, and leave in a huff.

Tony’s holding out a hand to help the poor guy up, and it’s not until he’s staring into a pair of blue eyes he knows as intimately as he knows himself, that Tony realises he’s just fucked up.

There’s an X on his wrist, to match the one on Steve’s.

Part of him wants to laugh that he’s always been jealous of himself, and the rest of him seems to be sending in an error report.

“You didn’t have to do that…?” Steve trails off into a question, and Tony coughs, wishing he didn’t have to lie about his name but knowing he must.

“Edward.” He says. “And I couldn’t just let my best fella get beaten.”

The middle?

Well.

That’s complicated.

The Road Through Hell (Is Paved With Fucking Landmines)

Welcome to the best Worst Road Trip fic you’ll ever read; where everyone's crazy, the war doesn’t matter, and the only thing being counted are the bullet holes in Howard's Aston Martin.

A fic featuring Tony, Natasha, Loki, Clint and Sam going AWOL amid my version of WW3 to go and rescue the unit that Steve, Bucky and Thor are assigned where it has been lost and abandoned behind enemy lines. The war is in the background, this features SteveTony letters, ridiculous jokes and dark moments, but a surprising lack of angst. Hopefully.

Treasure of the Heart

When Steve Rogers comes to see him, and wishes to find his brother, Bruce knows that to grant his wish will set a chain of events in motion. Events that could tear apart the kingdom, and will probably break his heart.

He says yes anyway.

Wish-granter!Witch!Bruce, pre-serum!adventurer!Steve, soul-forger!Tony, assassin!Natasha, half-elf!theif!Clint, dwarven!Thor, knight!Rhodey, cleric!Pepper and faye!Jan. Also featuring Dummy, Jarvis, You and Butterfingers as soul-wisps, a Peter&Harley&Kamala cameo, and a past to remain where it lays.

It’s a Bruce/Bucky fic, with an on-going plan that’s sat in a chat. I’m fond of it, even if it drives me nuts.

(If people were looking for The Stark’s High Society Orphans Club on this list, I apologise, but also promise that that fic is always on-going, but it also never had a plan. I’m still writing it, but it gets more attention than all of these and gets difficult at every turn).

@ishipallthings @itsallavengers @xtaticpearlsblog @codeflaws @savedbythenotepad @itstheallmother @reioka @agenderraskel @viudanegraaa uh… fuck, just, please?? Help me?? I don’t know which to work on and I’d prefer to work on something people would actually like to read!!

(People can reblog this. Please reblog this. I’ll come back and look at 17/08 8pm GMT. Wait no GMT plus 1, it’s summer. Friday, I’m looking on Friday).

#stevetony #thecitywritesshow #brucebucky #Help a fella out

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yuurisolympicgold · 7 years

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Yuuri Week 2017, Day 7: Free Day Title: Fruit Bearing Tree Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont, Victor Nikiforov. Pairings: Yuuri/Victor, Yuuri & Phichit. Genres/Tags: Romance, Friendship, Humor, Fluff, Crack, AU. Rating/Warnings: T/None. Summary: Living as modern day botanical witches where witchcraft had already been outlawed certainly had its pitfalls. Luckily Yuuri and Phichit manage to get by. Yuuri’s boyfriend/neighbor also helped keep their secret, until he bit from a piece of wishing fruit.

Of all the ways Yuuri thought a lazy Sunday should go, this definitely wasn’t it. He and Victor tried to coordinate their days off as much as possible so they could sleep in together, but early this morning Yuuri had to go cosign and renew the lease on his and Phichit’s shared apartment. As Yuuri unlocked and opened the door he wasn’t a step in before he was knocked back by an abrupt force.

“Congratulations, Yuuri,” Phichit teased as he rounded the corner. “You now have two dogs named Victor. How do you feel?”

Yuuri simply stared at the silver tip and full size poodle in his lap. He couldn’t budge as the pooch licked a long stripe along his cheek in greeting. In a moment of bubbling hysteria he considered it ironic that he’s meeting the canine version of his boyfriend the same way he met Makkachin.

“Like I should have my licence to practice magic revoked,” He deadpanned.

If there was one all-inclusive word to describe Yuuri’s coven it had to be ‘simple.’ No, they didn’t cackle around a cauldron or organize a weekly Séance. The things people believed were hilarious actually, but the brewing aspect of mainstream media was accurate at least. Their coven specialized in botany. Specifically, they infused their brews into ordinary fruits to create hybrids that were generally various types of cures. Red berries with a purple diamond pattern served as balms, while stemless pink apples could cure a common cold after immediate consumption.

As the eldest and most versatile member Yuuri was the leader. Their coven was made of only six and they made sure to always stay in pairs for safety since their practice was still considered illegal on paper. The others were Leo and Guang Hong, as well as Mila and her new apprentice Yurio. Their magic stemmed from light and through it they made things grow. Cures weren’t the only things they could make though and Yuuri had recently begun experimenting with making a wishing fruit, although the effects were meant to be temporary. Apparently there were a few bugs to work out though...

Yuuri blinked at the sound of a shutter click.

“Not now, Phichit!”

Phichit grinned as he looked at his phone. “Oh come on, Yuuri. You have to admit this is pretty funny, look at him!” He turned the device around so Yuuri could see the picture. As a dog Victor looked just like Makkachin, but with light silver fur. “You guys look great!” He cheered.

“You should’ve been here when Vicchy and Makka first saw him, it’s like they were reacquainting with a long lost friend,” Phichit trailed off. At the moment the other two dogs were strangely keeping their distance. It looked like even they reached their quota of “Strange Things that always happen in the Yuuri and Phichit BFF apartment of Magic, Gardening and other Witchery.”

“Why would he change into a dog though?” Phichit wondered.

“I guess because he wanted to be one,” Yuuri said sharply.

“Well, what are you going to call him? Victor the second? Victor II? I guess neither makes much sense since he’s 28 years old and much older than Vicchan. Hey!” He looked gleeful. “I read the oldest known dog lived to 29 years and five months. If we keep him like this we could make a killing through Guinness.”

“I don’t know what your definition of ‘a killing’ is since Guinness doesn’t pay their record breakers. Besides, we’re not making money off my boyfriend...my dog...something. Ugh,” Yuuri sighed. It was barely noon and he already had a headache. Victor nuzzled against his neck and Yuuri automatically giggled.

“I don’t understand how this happened, though?” Yuuri wondered. “I had that fruit set aside for storage in the blue bowl.”

“You did?”

“Yes...Phichit, didn’t you put it away?”

“Wait a minute,” Phichit looked blank for a moment then his eyes widened.

“No, I did! I remember specifically...” Phichit moved over to the front entryway to retrace his steps. “I walked through the door, I put my keys on the hook, I went past the kitchen island to get my mail and... ...oh,” He hesitated when he didn’t automatically reach for the place they keep their newly made fruit before it was stored in their little greenhouse. “Uh...whoops?” He offered.

“‘Whoops’? That isn’t the word innocent people use, Phichit.”

“I was tired, okay? I’m a young adult, I’m entitled to the occasional ‘whoops’ moment.”

Despite the initial hiccup Phichit was quick to contact the others for help. He was the one in charge of coordinating their monthly Sabbath.

“Leo suggested a reverse agent. Since whatever Victor ate is untested we probably shouldn’t mix anything different, that could make him really sick...or worse; he and Guang Hong are looking into it now. I couldn’t really tell if Yurio had any ideas between sounds of cackling and proclamations of ‘stupid old man’ though.”

Yuuri sighed, at least he was having more of a normal reaction to the situation. “I’m sorry, Victor. I should’ve been more careful...”

Yuuri was currently seated on the couch and Victor hadn’t hesitated hopping up next to him and putting himself half in Yuuri’s lap. Phichit noted they didn’t actually look much different like this, with the exception of sharper teeth and more fur of course.

“He looks comfortable enough,” Phichit offered. “Really comfortable actually. Think he was a dog in a past life?”

“It’s possible, he loves them enough. He always talks about wanting to have a cute house with a white picket fence, adopt 2.5 kids and a big ‘doggo’ family.” He said with a smile.

Phichit clicked his tongue.

“Don’t worry, Yuuri. Although those families usually have only one dog you’ll still have your “American Dream.” Even though we’re not in America and this isn’t the 1950s anymore. This isn’t a fruitless endeavor.”

“Oh my god.”

Despite himself Yuuri still laughed as his roommate went into one of the bedrooms. Their apartment was spacious and consisted of three bedrooms, the last one they used as a greenhouse.

Yuuri had no idea how he did it, but Phichit had reconstructed the chemical makeup of his phone battery so he could charge it with light magic. Then he used a reflective surface and a projection screen to cast the light to feed their plants and smaller fruit trees during cloudy days. He wondered what people who strongly believed that magic couldn’t co-exist at the same time with technology and science would think of their methods.

Yuuri shook his head started looking through his tomes for a solution to their newest problem.

Later Yuuri scrubbed his eyes, the lines of text had started to bleed together and were giving him a headache. The wishing fruit was a prototype and were designed to only be temporary, the effects would ebb away after the fruit was no longer in the consumer’s system. However that was his first batch, he had no idea if the affects were permanent or not.

Yuuri liked to experiment and come up with new recipes. He wished more people were as open to new things like Victor. He’d recently created a fruit that looked like a hybrid of a starfruit, but with a pineapple’s blossoming leaves. If you ate three over three days it would mend a broken bone with only the need for a splint to prevent further damage during the healing process. He supposed that would put a lot of health practitioners and pharmaceutical companies out of business though. That didn’t prevent people from buying their fruit. It was their main source of income and did more than pay their bills and rent. They lived pretty comfortably considering their clientele thought they were simple herbal remedies and obviously nothing to do with magic.

Yuuri looked up as Phichit entered the room. He looked amused at the ‘dogtourage’ camped out around Yuuri.

“Yurio forwarded a reverse agent with very specific instructions. It’s for “Katsudon’s eyes only” he said.” Phichit handed over a sheet with detailed measurements. “It will need a base though.”

Yurio had an innate talent for combining elements in his recipes, but he struggled to develop them into full compounds. He was fifteen though, he had plenty of time. He was already advanced for his age.

“Thanks, Phichit. Thank him too for me. I’ve got it,” Yuuri said as he rose from the sofa. He headed over to an adjoining door in their kitchen which doubled as a utility and storage room, as well as Yuuri’s workshop.

The scent of vinyl was heavy in the room. It contained a pervasive musk, but Yuuri found it comforting in his work space. He grabbed a few anti bacterial wipes and rubbed down the surface of the wooden board on the tabletop and flipped it over to repeat. He then brought out his toolbox and snapped on a pair of latex gloves and goggles. No matter how cautious and sterile he made the place, every witch who specialized in botany ended up with a green tint on their fingertips.

Incidentally that was how Victor started suspecting he wasn’t an ordinary botanist or gardener early in their relationship.

“I’ve heard gardeners have a metaphorical green thumb, but this is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Victor had asked during their third date. He was seated across from Yuuri in a nice restaurant when he’d leaned across and held his hand. He ran his fingers along each digit, pads rubbing into the mossy looking stains.

Yuuri knew then he had a choice; that Victor was leaving that choice up to him. He could choose to go along with the default story he and Phichit came up with, or he could take a chance and trust him. Victor would probably buy his old standby explanation, but the thought of lying to Victor made him sick. After so long he wanted to open up to someone outside of the coven. He really and truly did.

After their date he decided to show him his workshop, seeing was believing after all. Victor had been shocked and awed of course. He’d stumbled over grasping the idea that witchcraft wasn’t something from movies or fiction and yet he didn’t react at all the way Yuuri had feared deep down. In fact he looked excited at the prospect.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Yuuri.” He knew their secret would be safe with Victor. However seeing the unblemished look of awe on his face was enough for Yuuri to wish he could do it again just to see him smile like that.

Yuuri was brought of his thoughts with a start as the door creaked open. Yuuri was used to leaving it ajar now as Victor liked to come in and watch him work. Of course he had no magic to make the formulae work, but he found the brewing process fascinating. Victor was an accountant and financial planner, Yuuri imagined the careful measurements and calculations appealed to his affinity for numbers.

So much like he did as a human, canine Victor leaned against his desktop and watched him work. Yuuri missed him, it was ridiculous because he was still right there and it had only been a few hours since the transformation, but he missed him.

He set to work, cleaning his glassware and brought out a few flasks of green, yellow and mahogany red from the old fridge he and Phichit had purchased from Craigslist to store their chemicals in. He moved aside the stand and buret he used for titrations and brought out his Bunsen burner. He then followed the instructions and measured the proper quantities of each into an Erlenmeyer flask to make the medium and set it on the burner. Taking an eyedropper he added a few drops to the liquid, the mixture then started to bleed indigo. He then removed it to cool. He then followed the instructions Yurio sent and pipetted a few other chemicals into the cooling liquid.

Yuuri pinched the inside of his gloves, pulling them so they came off inside out and he wouldn’t get any chemicals on his skin. He then removed his goggles and replaced his glasses. With a few muttered words he wrapped his hands around the warm flask and then a flash, a brief whiff of mead and ozone, then the mixture fizzled to life and began to solidify. Before it could ruin the glass he dumped it onto an untempered orange in a bowl. It immediately absorbed into the fruit and became a bright teal with violet accents.

Normally with a new fruit he would dissect it so he and Phichit could harvest the seeds then cultivate and multiply them in the greenhouse, but he was pressed for time. He pivoted on his stool and slid off, sitting on the floor next to Victor. He began peeling the skin and held out the sky blue fruit.

“Come on, honey,” Yuuri says quietly. “Swallow all of it. For me, please?”

He held it in the flat of his hand and Victor eagerly lapped it up then gave an answering lick to the tip of Yuuri’s nose. Yuuri had to dig his heels into the tile to stop from being bowled over again by the sudden enthusiasm.

“Yuck,” He chuckled and readjusted his glasses, the gesture had knocked them askew. “Don’t do that. It’s too weird right now. Now my nose is sticky.”

He was sure Victor grinned at him.

“It’s still going to take awhile for you to change back,” Yuuri told him. “But at least we don’t have to go anywhere today...”

Yuuri turned his attention away at the sound of knocking on the door frame.

“Yuuri dear,” Phichit said with false cheer. “We have a new problem. Michele and Sara want to do their inspection now.”

Uh oh, Yuuri thought with a bit of trepidation. Michele was their landlord and last time he did an inspection he’d accused them of using too much water on their inside and outside garden. Of course he didn’t know they used magic on both, but he still tried to raise their rent. Fortunately for them the case was dropped when Michele couldn’t prove it.

“I can’t go out there with a second dog. He’ll probably try to raise our rent again,” Yuuri grimaced.

“I don’t want to talk to Michele either,” Phichit said. “You know how he is. He’s strict on his ‘one pet only’ policy to the point that he even disapproved of my hamsters coming to live with us. My hamsters, Yuuri. We had to smuggle them in during moving day, remember?”

“We can hide the hamsters, Phichit. We always do. What we can’t hide is another full size poodle who isn’t on ours or Victor’s lease. If Michele is suspicious of anything we’re doing he could report us and we’re looking at potential jail time here,” Yuuri reminded.

Thankfully Sara was there, Yuuri thought. She and Mila were dating and so she knew all about them.

“Fine,” Phichit relented. “But you owe me. Also, I’m putting the kids in here with you until they leave, so you better make sure they’re safe.”

“I promise,” Yuuri nodded. “Thanks Phichit.”

“I love you too,” He teased.

After they ran a checklist of every suspicious bit of equipment they had they were as ready as they’d ever be. For good measure they also moved the one empty pipette rack they kept in the kitchen refrigerator to the utility room. Phichit then went to answer the door while Yuuri stayed in the workroom with three dogs and three hamsters. He wasn’t sure how this became his life honestly, but they needed to be on their best behavior since Michele could be prickly.

Michele also didn’t like their flowering trees, even though they kept them in pots on their patio and away from common property. Sara liked them, she thought they were whimsical. She’d also winked at Yuuri and Phichit and Yuuri had found out later through Mila that she and her were dating. Being involved with another coven member meant that a great deal of trust was involved, therefore partners of coven members were also considered part of the family. When Michele asked where they’d acquired such ‘weird-looking’ vegetation in their greenhouse they settled on another standby and explained that they were tropical fruits from remote islands in the Caribbean. It was one of their least inventive stories to date, but Michele seemed to buy it at least. So, small blessings.

Yuuri settled down in a chair as he heard the front door open and Phichit’s voice greeting the Crispinos. Like he’d done all day, Victor hopped up next to him and settled in his lap.

As it would happen though, their caution wasn’t needed as the dog’s fur started to shimmer and glow. The shape then began to morph.

“Check the utility room, Sara.” Yuuri distantly heard Michele’s voice. “Find anything?”

Sara looked into the room at Victor—human Victor—sitting on Yuuri’s lap, with blue fruit juice dribbling from his mouth and the remains of a magical trail still dissipating. “Nope. All clear in here, Mickey.”

Not that the other two occupants in the room were paying much attention, she noted in amusement.

Yuuri gaped. “Victor! The fruit actually worked? You’re back to normal!”

Victor beamed at him. “I knew it would, my Yuuri.”

Seeing Victor happy and perfectly fine was too much for Yuuri to contain. He felt compelled to express every bit of relief he felt through the kiss he pulled him down into, pouring every bit of emotion he had into it. When they pulled back it was with matching grins and content giggles.

Sara later told them that Mila had called her and explained the whole situation. As building manager, Sara didn’t normally come for apartment inspections, but she thought they might need help playing defense against her twin brother’s nosy tendencies.

“Mickey’s not a bad guy,” She reassured before leaving. “He’s just a bit too ‘by the book.’ I think he’ll come around eventually. Then you two won’t have to hide so much.”

As for the reason for Victor’s transformation, it turned out it wasn’t that deep after all. Victor had just been leaving Yuuri’s bedroom when Yuuri returned from a walk with Vicchan and Makkachin. He grabbed what he thought was a clean pear while he watched Yuuri play with both dogs in the entryway and had the passing thought that he wanted to join in on the fun. It wasn’t technically even a wish. He didn’t notice until it was too late that the inside of the pear was fuchsia either. Yuuri had left soon after though to meet with Michele and Sara.

“Apparently there are more than a few kinks in the recipe...” Yuuri sighed and looked sheepishly over at Victor. This is exactly why he was trying to tint the skins of the magic fruit as well.

Victor just smiled and shrugged.

“Wow,” Phichit said with a chuckle. “It’s a good thing Victor wasn’t there while you were signing our new lease. He might have turned into a pen. Since Yuuri likes to nibble on the tips of pens.”

Yuuri made a choking sound.

“Would that have been bad?” Victor asked curiously.

“Actually it would have,” Yuuri answered uneasily. “Transformations from organic matter into something synthetic or vice versa never end well, the composition and chemical makeup aren’t equal, so...”

“Meaning?”

“You probably would have transformed back...in pieces,” Yuuri winced.

Not even Victor could hold back a cringe.

“Well,” Phichit pushed himself out of the chair. He stretched his back with a pop. “It all turned out fine. Although Victor might have trouble scrubbing out the scent of dog from his hair. Anyway, I’ve got work in half an hour. Those freshly grown antioxidants and antihistamines won’t sell themselves. To think we made durian fruit actually not smell and taste horrendous! Have fun you two.”

Yuuri waved as his friend grabbed his keys and jacket, closing the front door behind him. He couldn’t be more grateful for his help today. He felt eyes on him and noticed that Victor was staring at him with a muted giddy expression.

Yuuri smiled back. “What is it?”

There was definitely color rising on Victor’s face. Yuuri hoped it wasn’t a side effect of the change. “You called me honey. Before, in the workshop.”

Yuuri blushed up to his ears. Is that why he’d been so enthusiastic when he’d fed him the fruit? It wasn’t that big of a deal was it? He’d been willing himself to do it for awhile now, but... “Y-yes? I suppose I did.”

“I liked it.”

Yuuri smiled shyly. “Then I should call you that more, shouldn’t I?”

“I’d like that.” Victor beamed and not even Yuuri could deny that was a blush.

A quiet settled over the room, no doubt they were both feeling the effects of a long day. Yuuri cleared his throat.

“Aren’t you glad to be back to normal? That must have been pretty...awkward.”

“Of course,” Victor answered. “I have to say it was a very interesting experience.” He added simply.

“Weren’t you worried though? I mean, it was an experimental fruit you ate. They don’t have negative side effects, but it could have been permanent...” Yuuri trailed off guiltily.

“Not at all,” Victor answered immediately. “I know we’re worlds apart and I could never really understand what it’s like to live as you both do.” He reached over and balled one of Yuuri’s hands together and pressed a kiss to the back. “What I also know is that you’re the best at what you do. I knew you’d figure it out. What I enjoyed was watching you work towards it. You’re so focused and assured, your fingers so dexterous. I knew you’d find a solution,” He murmured reverently.

Yuuri exhaled and leaned into Victor’s side, turning to hide his blush in his lover’s shoulder. “Can I just say how much I appreciate your nonchalance and blasé attitude towards things that would make most people run screaming?”

Victor hummed, running his fingers through the tresses of Yuuri’s black hair. “Then they’re fools, to be honest. Knowing that fantastical elements like what you and your friends do and truly exists is something people should embrace, not be afraid of.”

Yuuri said nothing. He idly wore the fabric of Victor’s shirt between his fingertips. This was the first time they’d run into what could’ve been a bad situation for them all. Like Sara said, Michele wasn’t a bad guy, but there were people out there who would’t hesitate to see them brought to justice. Victor would get in trouble for being an accomplice, for essentially hiding them.

Yuuri sighed. He had to say something at least. It was the right thing to do.

“Victor, I...” Yuuri swallowed. “I hope you know what you’re getting into. I mean, I’m a witch, weird things are going to happen all the time. You have to know that not everyone shares your viewpoint and you could get in trouble for it.”

Victor shook his head. “Yuuri, the moment you worked up the courage to ask me out that first time—even though there wasn’t a chance I’d say no—I decided I was on this ride for a long as you wanted. I loved you before you shared your secret with me. You being a magical being just adds some extra spice to your dish,” He said with a wink.

Yuuri teared up at the swell of emotions. He felt so full of love for the man he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Their coven was small, but at least they had each other however distance was a huge factor. For more than safety’s sake, the reason for staying in pairs was companionship. He would have felt so isolated if not for Phichit and now Victor.

“Victor, that means more than you might ever know. I love you too.”

#yuuriweek #day: 7 #theme: free day #katsuki yuuri #yuuri katsuki #something silly and self-indulgent to finish the week with #happy yuuri week everyone #queue #fic

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magpiewords · 7 years

Text

March AU Madness 02

This was supposed to be a flash fill but I accidentally wrote 1700 words of bantery fluff. Eh, I had fun writing it. Hope you have fun reading it!

newspaper advice columnists who passive-aggressively diss one another in their advice au

Dear Iron Man, I’m about to go in and ask my boss for a raise. I know I deserve it, but I’m still nervous! Any tips? Thanks, Corporate Ladder-er

Tony chuckled as he picked the reader to answer this week. As CEO of Stark Times, he so often found himself bored between proofing publications. Their paper went out twice a week, which left five days of nearly nothing to do. Well, not nothing, Tony was sure, but Pepper took care of all those minor troubles. To fill his time, and to fill a half a page in the gossip spread, Tony thought running an advice column would be fun. And oh, was it fun. Especially now that the Shield Chronicle was trying to keep up with them.

Dear Captain America, I just got a promotion! However, my new department is very different and I have a lot of new responsibilities. I want to succeed, I want to impress the department heads, but I don’t like working overtime- I want to have my own life too! This new position seems to require a lot more hours than I expected. How can I balance work and relaxation? From Unbalanced

The Captain was a poor pseudonym. It took five seconds on the Chronicle’s employee page to discover Steve Rogers had served in the army, with a rank of the same name. Tony had almost completely forgotten about Rogers; while rivals in NYU’s journalism program, they disappeared from each other’s lives after graduation. Apparently, Rogers had not forgotten about him.

Dear Unbalanced, Work/life balance is a skill to be mastered with time. Spending all night locked in your office, forgetting to eat and ignoring people’s phone calls, is bad for your wellbeing and the health of everyone around you. On the other hand, having crazy weekends in Barbados isn’t the path to success either. Talk to your department about setting clear hours, and plan your social life around that. If work gets to be too much, they give you vacation days for a reason. Hopefully, you can find your own source of relaxation at work. I know I have. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. Sincerely, Captain America

Four years of memories rushed back as Tony read the rival paper. Even as they competed with each other, Steve had watched out for Tony. Those late college nights often involved a midnight pizza delivery or coffee runs together. They were special moments, some of Tony’s favorites. And Steve had just throw those memories to the public without a care of who could connect the dots! Because it didn’t take a genius to remember Tony’s spring-break-week-turned-month in Barbados a few years back. He had been a new CEO and it made the front page of every paper, including the Shield Chronicle and Stark Times.

“Relaxation at work my ass.” Tony knew Rogers juggled the advice column with a busy investigative schedule, but he always knew his old rival was something of a hypocrite. At least some things don’t change. “Want to be petty, Stevie? Because two can play at that game.”

Dear Ladder-er, The key to all success is confidence. Go to your boss, be direct, and be proud of what you’ve done. Those late nights in the office are worth a lot. Whatever you do, don’t be passive aggressive about it, because it’s not clever and everyone will see right through what you’re doing. If you have something to say, say it to their face. XOXO, Iron Man

The publication went out a day later, and the following week, The Chronicle had another letter responded to.

Dear Captain America, I’m starting high school next month. My friends are all excited, but everything is changing. They wear different clothes now, listen to different music. One of my friends even dyed her hair! I don’t want to get left behind, but I like my clothes and music. If high school is anything like the movies, without my friends I’ll be eaten alive. I can’t lie to them, I’m no good at lying. How do I change who I am? From, Metamorphosis

Dear Meta, The only answer I have for your question is: don’t. Don’t change yourself. True friends will accept you no matter what you wear or listen to. You should always be true to yourself. If not, you could end up like Iron Man over at Stark Times, he’s a shallow copy of what he thought he was supposed to be and I don’t think he’s very happy like that. You should do what makes you happy and friends will naturally follow. Sincerely, Captain America

“That bitch!” Tony throws his tablet across his office, the digital copy of the Chronicle still on the screen.

“What did Everhart say this time?” Pepper says calmly, voice carrying between the doors of their respective workplaces.

“Not her. That idiot at the Chronicle is slandering me!”

“It’s not slander if it’s not your real name.”

Tony huffs at that, but goes to pick up his tablet. Much more satisfying to throw than physical newspaper would be, especially since he wouldn’t be caught dead giving money to that sham of a reporting group. At least the tablet was sturdy.

“Alright Rogers, I can do high school drama.”

Dear Iron Man, Help!! The school musical is in three days and my co-star just quit! It can’t possibly be my fault; he was acting like a jerk while we rehearsed. Never memorized his lines, always showing up late, I couldn’t stand it! I’ll admit, I said some harsh things, but he was mean right back! Now the director wants me to apologize to him. Should I? Thanks, Broadway Bound

Dear Broadway, Tell that little bitch-

“Tony we can’t publish that.”

“I am the CEO, I can publish whatever I want!”

“Tony.”

“Fine.”

Dear Broadway, Apologizing is a hard thing to do, but it’s also an art form. You need this co-star for the show, and you need your director to keep you in a positive light. If something mean was said, apologizing is the right thing to do. You’ll look like the bigger person. Someone who isn’t petty is always someone successful. You wouldn’t want to end up like Captain America over at Shield Chronicle, who is incredibly petty. Someone like that is a real asshole-

“Tony, please.”

Someone like that is a real jerk, and you’re better than that, Broadway. Break a leg! XOXO, Iron Man

The columns continue for weeks, each becoming slightly less related to the original problem of the anonymous sender. The letters coming in start to change in nature, whatever issue is presented acting as a pretty obvious front of indulging the Iron Man VS Captain America feud.

“Look man,” James Rhodes was from sales, but Rhodey was Tony’s long time coffee companion. They walked out of the Starbucks down the street together as the lunch hour was ending. “I don’t know what your deal is with the guys at Chronicle, but our reader numbers are higher than ever since your column got stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Tony grumbles, “He’s stupid.”

“You’re both stupid, but stupid sells so keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

Whatever Tony was doing takes an interesting twist when the papers come out at the start of the week. Both Stark Times and Shield Chronicle’s advice columns happen to feature the same letter, but with very different responses from the two papers.

I love my job. It’s stressful, but I’m good at it. I enjoy a challenge, but sometimes I can only take so much. Recently, my work partner has been acting stranger than usual. He’s always a workaholic, but there are weeks where I’m pretty sure he’s worn the same suit every day. He’s always loud and obnoxious, but I can hear him ranting even when I close my office door. He’s obsessed with this new project and I’m happy for him, but I need to keep my own sanity. Every time I try to bring it up politely with him, he doesn’t seem to pay attention. He’s a bit of a news junky, so I thought writing in to the paper could help. Also, he keeps stealing my leftovers in the office fridge and I need him to know I’m not happy about it. Regards, Red Hot Chili

Dear Red Hot, I truly hope your coworker will read my response. His behavior is absolutely unacceptable in the workplace, no matter how brilliant or important his work may be. No matter the job, everyone needs to go home and sleep. If his behavior continues, see if you can take it higher up. But if even the CEO wont listen, I’m afraid you’ll have to tune him out. Try some good headphones and your favorite album. I recommend Mumford and Sons. Or perhaps you can move his office. This guy sounds a lot like ol’ Iron Man, and those types love a dimly lit basement to overwork themselves in. That type also has a low spice tolerance; next time, spike your chili with jalapeños. Sincerely, Captain America

Dear Chili Pepper, If this guy buys you lunch for the next week and closes his own door more often, do you think you could forgive him? XOXO, Iron Man

Pepper seemed content to dig into the chili Tony brought her as they worked late the following evening. “I expect a Louis Vuitton sized bonus this month,” She says around her fork, “They have some new pumps I was looking at.”

“Consider it done. Did you really have to write in to both papers though?” He stabs his fork into his own bowl of chili. Pepper just shrugs.

“Be lucky I’m not actually moving you to the basement.”

Tony laughs. Despite his higher position in the company, they both know she could very well have his office moved through various means. Between bites, he looks at the Chronicle again, the ink of the paper seeming to itch itself onto his skin.

“You didn’t say anything about my work being brilliant, though.”

Pepper looks up at Tony’s non-sequitur, before a fond smile crosses her face. “Well it is, but no, I didn’t.”

Dear Captain America,

Do you believe that time heals all wounds? The last time I spoke to a person in my life, we left on poor terms. This person is now coming back into my life in an admittedly strange way. He’s still the same stubborn, reckless jerk I remember, still the same funny and charming guy too. Aside from Mumford and Sons, how can start again with him? XOXO, Heart of Gold

Though the letter Tony sends to the Chronicle never gets published, his own submissions box gets a response the next day.

Dear Iron Man, How does a date sound? Sincerely, Stubborn Solider

#avengers #og #stony #au #march au madness #tony stark #Steve Rogers #Pepper Potts

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mindthump · 7 years

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The burger of the future comes from crickets, not cows http://ift.tt/2pdw2ed

Agriculture has come a long way in the past century. We produce more food than ever before — but our current model is unsustainable, and as the world’s population rapidly approaches the 8 billion mark, modern food production methods will need a radical transformation if they’re going to keep up. But luckily, there’s a range of new technologies that might make it possible. In this series, we’ll explore some of the innovative new solutions that farmers, scientists, and entrepreneurs are working on to make sure that nobody goes hungry in our increasingly crowded world.

Across the world, it’s not uncommon for human beings to practice entomophagy — the consumption of insects — without a second thought. In fact, insects are often considered a delicacy in certain cultures. From the chapulines (toasted grasshoppers) of Mexico to the fried tarantulas of Cambodia, bugs regularly find their way into our bellies — without the accompaniment of braggadocious Instagram posts – “#OMG# I can’t believe I’m eating this!”

In much of Europe and North America, though, we don’t like to eat things with more than four legs. Insects are considered to be gross — not just because they live between bedsprings and below floorboards, but because of their crunchy texture and their villainous perception. Ask the next person you speak to their opinion on eating bugs, and you’re likely to receive an expression that’s a combination of disgust and incredulity.

The thing is, sooner than later, we may not have much of a choice. As the population grows, so does our need for food sources with manageable environmental footprints. Traditional livestock operations simply can’t scale to meet the demands of an eventual 9 billion meat-eating humans without wreaking havoc on the environment. Adding insects to our diets could help us avoid stressing our already overburdened food system.

The Six-Legged Solution

So, are we destined for a diet of damselflies and daddy longlegs? Right now, it’s hard to imagine ordering a Crunchwrap Supreme stuffed with fried ants instead of ground beef, but we’ve got to start somewhere, right?

Gabi Lewis and Greg Sewitz, co-founders of Exo Protein, think they might have found a workable solution: crickets.

Rather than whole crickets, though, the team at Exo is pulverizing the little guys into “cricket flour,” which is really less like traditional flour and more like a protein powder made of insects. The powder is then used to create a line of protein bars, which are actually pretty good (according to those of us in the office brave enough to try them).

Exo Protein bars are made from cricket flour.(Credit: Exo Protein)

They don’t taste like bugs, and you won’t end up with little tiny legs in your teeth; in fact, if someone were to hand you an Exo bar sans wrapper, you probably wouldn’t notice many differences from protein bars you’ve eaten in the past.

Exo Protein is just one example. In the past decade, dozens of similar companies have popped up with cricket-based products of their own — and they’re not all protein bars. From cookies to banana bread to crackers and chips, you could practically fill an entire pantry with all the bug-based food choices available today.

But why would you choose to? What benefits are there to eating crickets? Well, actually, there are no shortage of reasons to make the switch – or to at least entertain the possibility.

First of all, they’re good for you. Crickets are efficient sources of iron and vitamin B12, and they’re a complete protein, containing all the essential amino acids. By percentage, cricket flour contains nearly twice as much protein as beef jerky, with little to no fat content. Other insects, like mealworms and black soldier fly larvae, also rate highly in terms of nutritional value.

Part of the reason Lewis began to explore entomophagy was his search for a better protein. Animal proteins are full of beneficial nutrients and vitamins, but they’re horribly inefficient to produce. On the other hand, plant-based proteins are environmentally sustainable, but lack many essential amino acids that the human body requires. “With insect proteins, you’re not sacrificing anything,” says Lewis. “[It’s] the best of both worlds.”

The most pressing reason to start grubbing on grubs is the astonishing difference between the environmental footprint of cattle ranching and the environmental footprint of insect farming. Cows (and, relatively speaking, pigs and poultry as well) require vast amounts of water to farm. Estimates vary wildly, but a study funded by the Beef Checkoff program (which itself is funded by cattle ranchers, so this number is probably on the low end) claims that one pound of boneless beef requires 441 gallons of water to produce. In comparison, cricket flour requires just one gallon of water per pound.

Consumption of insects has a smaller impact on the environment. (Credit: Exo Protein)

Farming crickets doesn’t just save water. As opposed to cows, crickets don’t produce methane, which is the greenhouse gas most often associated with the depletion of our ozone layer. Crickets are far more efficient to feed as well, yielding up to 12 times as much edible protein, according to the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO).

No one worries about the welfare of bugs, either. Insect farmers aren’t required to provide their “livestock” with space to roam, so replacing cows with crickets would have an enormous impact upon the world’s ecosystems.

On top of all that, bugs also don’t carry zoonotic diseases — infectious diseases that can be spread to humans from animals. They include Ebola, SARS, and influenza, among others. This isn’t to say that insects don’t pose infectious risks – they’re great at that – but most of the scary stuff comes from warm-blooded animals.

Making it Mainstream

Unfortunately, the Western world might not be ready to welcome insects onto their plates quite yet. Right now, due to the relative size and emergent status of the industry, cricket flour (and food made with it) isn’t cheap. As a result, only a small percentage of the population can afford these foods — least of all those who live under the poverty line, where hunger is at its worst.

Lewis compares it to “making jerky when there are only two cattle ranches,” and says that costs will come down as the supply chain grows. Exo has modeled its business to reflect that, focusing first on eliminating stigma and warming people up to the idea of eating crickets, rather than pushing their products to shelves as soon as possible.

Still, it’s doubtful that Westerners will fully embrace entomophagy anytime soon. Normalizing something considered so weird is always a gradual process, and must be handled with care. If you visited a restaurant tomorrow and the waiter told you that the daily special was locust mole, you probably wouldn’t order it. And who could blame you? It’s a foreign cuisine.

There are, however, precedents for the adoption of foreign cuisines by the Western world. Lewis points to sushi as a prime example. Today, everybody has that one friend who absolutely loves sushi. It’s a popular food, no doubt about it. Until the invention of the California roll in the 1970s, though, sushi wasn’t even on the map for most Americans.

The inclusion of avocado (which itself languished, unappreciated, for years before a surge in the late 20th century, and for which global demand now outstrips supply) and the replacement of raw fish with crab meat helped to popularize the roll, which was first served in the former Tokyo Kaikan restaurant in Los Angeles.

The key, though, according to Lewis, was the roll’s design, which hides the shellfish behind layers of rice and seaweed. With Exo, Lewis and Sewitz are trying to do the same thing, except with crickets.

Eating insects is a widely accepted practice across many eastern cultures.

The bug-filled Trojan horse isn’t limited to Exo bars. Insects au gratin, a project authored in London by Susana Soares and Andrew Forkes, sought to combat stigmas by aesthetically reshaping entomophagous food products. The project involves mixing insect flour with gelling agents and flavoring — such as icing butter or cream cheese — to produce a consistency that can then be 3D printed into novel shapes and cooked (or eaten raw).

Since the project’s conclusion in 2015, though, there’s been little research done on the topic, and it’s difficult to say whether such an undertaking would ever be efficient enough to implement on a large scale.

The good news is that there’s not one “right” method of normalizing entomophagy. Companies like Exo are currently blazing the trail, helping shape an industry that’s still in its infancy. Creative individuals will keep coming up with ideas, and eventually, one is bound to strike gold. If we can imbibe massive quantities of kombucha and kale, surely we can scarf down a few creepy-crawlies – we just need the right motivation.

Associating entomophagy with familiar traditions could prove effective: In April, fans at Seattle Mariners games scarfed down more than 18,000 chapulines over three days. The snacks — courtesy of Poquitos Mexican Cuisine – were so popular that the stadium sold out all three days (to the surprise of both the Mariners organization and Poquitos), with more grasshoppers eaten at Safeco Field than the restaurant sells during the course of an entire year. Still, despite receiving offers from various edible insect suppliers, the team “[doesn’t] have plans to expand that portion of the menu.”

A 2013 study in Belgium offered some hope, showing that consumers would be willing to cook and eat insects if they could be imbued with familiar flavors. That’s presumably why companies like Chirps Chips are selling cricket-flour snacks covered in Cheddar and BBQ flavoring – because that’s what we’re used to.

For many, though, it’s going to take more than some ranch-flavored dust to be convinced. A Dutch study in 2016 found that humans’ perception of food is largely dependent upon the food’s “appropriateness” – subjects in the study were predisposed to prefer patties labeled as “beef,” even after experiencing no sensory difference during taste-testing.

Simply put, we’re not prepared (yet) to simply replace cows with crickets and move forward. A possible stopgap solution – one supported by the FAO – is the use of insects as feed for livestock, which adds a much-needed degree of separation between mealworms and mouths.

Silkworm larvae and termite flour, which are cheap to farm and full of nutrients, have proven to be adequate replacements for the high-priced fishmeal and meat meal usually fed to poultry.

Black soldier fly prepupae, meanwhile, are extremely efficient sources of fat and protein, and — as feed — support healthy growth for chickens, pigs, and several species of fish. In Yellow Springs, Ohio, a company named EnviroFlight uses black soldier fly grass and wheat middlings to craft feed for freshwater prawns, which typically eat an expensive diet of sinking catfish feed. Taste-testers were unable to detect any difference in flavor between the catfish-fed prawns and the soldier fly-fed prawns, a good sign for the future of insects as feed.

Ultimately, though, the pressure is on us to adapt. Though feeding bugs to our cattle might seem more palatable than eating them ourselves, it won’t be enough to help slow the troubling environmental issues that currently plague our world. Eventually (unless a better option comes along), we should probably get used to the idea of eating bugs if we want to thrive in the future. So, who knows? Maybe eating Caterpies and Weedles isn’t so “Farfetch’d”after all.

From lab-grown steaks to plant-based blood, science is taking the animal out of meat

From pixels to plate, food has become 3D printing’s delicious new frontier

From corn to cattle, gene editing is about to supercharge agriculture

#IFTTT #Feedly

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