#not that I could afford a flip phone anyway. or service. why would someone want to scam me specifically when I posted my account overdrafted | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2313 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 5 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Buzzing. There was constant buzzing in your ear, a combination of all the sounds around you blurring into an indiscernible mix you forced yourself to focus on. The steady drone is too slow for the quickened bounce of your leg shaking against the floor of the Uber that’s bringing you to your destination much faster than you expected. Your stomach is twisted in painful knots that sear deeper as you see the illuminated sign of Metro-General Hospital.

The way you’re feeling makes you want to head left through the emergency room doors but instead you charge ahead towards the main entrance. After giving your name you move to the side and await instructions from the security guard.

The buzzing hasn’t stopped though you quickly realize the pulsating vibrations were coming from your phone inside your bag. Quickly checking it you saw a text from Bucky wishing you good luck on the interview. You smiled seeing his name, feeling a moment of relief.

There was a shift in the air after you opened up to him the night before about why social work meant so much to you. Bucky had a much clearer understanding of you, commending the drive you had to come so far even with the obstacles you faced. You exchanged numbers before he left, acknowledging that Bucky was no longer just your neighbor but someone you considered a new friend.

The security guard hands you a visitor ID and gives you instructions to get to Ms. Rodriguez’s office from the elevator. Smoothing out your blouse you gave a friendly smile to the fellow passengers that entered as the doors opened to almost every floor on the journey up.

Two right turns and then a left at the nurses’ station until you found the corridor with blue doors. You rang the bell that buzzed a second later and pushed open the now unlocked door to enter an open room. A woman sits at a desk in front, gesturing for you to sit down on the row of chairs behind you as she continues her phone conversation.

Her desk is covered in a stack of thick manila folders, with one file open in front of her that she references on the call. You try not to eavesdrop despite being right there so you move your head slowly to observe the rest of the room. Cubicle walls divide a few other desks beside her. The walls are lined with tall file cabinets and a large potted Ficus drinks up the sunshine in the corner.

At the back of the room is a door that unexpectedly swings open, having been pulled so hard it seemed like it could have come off the hinges. A tall slim girl is scowling as her boots stomp down the hallway. She’s dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket as dark as her loose, uncombed hair. A woman steps out from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Follow protocol Ms. Jones and we’ll get him.”

The girl turned around scoffing, “We’ll get him faster if I throw his ass through a wall.”

“Jessica,” she warned, flaring her eyes at the girl in a silent challenge.

It only took a moment for you to realize the woman was Ms. Rodriguez and suddenly your stomach began flipping again.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” she asked and you nodded, standing up to greet her with a handshake and a smile.

She asked you to follow her into her office, watching her thick braid sway as she walked ahead of you, holding the door open for you to enter. Her office wasn’t very big, or maybe it only felt that way since it was surrounded by even more large file cabinets.

“I apologize for that,” she began, “Jessica thinks using her fists might yield more results. This is a tough field, tell me what you wish to get out of it.”

Having recounted the full story with Bucky you were emotionally prepared to discuss all aspects of why you wanted to go into this field and it was clear to Ms. Rodriguez that you wanted to make a difference in the lives of those you were advocating for.

Her fingers twirled the large silver cross around her neck as she stared at you, your nerves rising under her silent gaze. Her face eventually relaxed into a smile and the weight was lifted from your shoulders as she welcomed you aboard as an intern. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face but when she began talking hours and scheduling it quickly dropped. You explained working full time and the hope you had for fulfilling your internship hours in the evenings.

“The issue is that some patients require our help to connect them with outside organizations to provide services and it’s unfortunate but most places stop answering their phones before 5 o’clock. There is a lot you can learn from us here but I would expect some daytime hours, otherwise this internship does not benefit you and I don’t mean to be frank but I can’t have you waste my time.”

Her straightforwardness made you feel nauseous but you understood. Your goal was so close, 1200 hours away until completion. You weren’t going to let it slip away.

“Thank you Ms. Rodriguez. I would love the opportunity to still do my internship here with you. If you’ll allow me the opportunity to speak with my employer, perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

This may be another obstacle in the road but you were going to get through it, somehow, someway.

The following day you woke up earlier than usual despite your lack of sleep. You almost texted Bucky at night, asking him to play anything in hopes the sound of his music would help drown out the anxieties in your mind. Instead you tossed and turned all night, unable to shut off your brain.

You didn’t want to text him anyway, knowing he would ask how the interview went. You avoided Steve and Wanda’s texts as well, seeking refuge at The Grind House but instead of doing research papers you worked on several plans. If you couldn’t make Stark Industries work with your internship then you’d have to find another job, or two, or three if need be.

You would make this happen no matter what but that didn’t ease the pit in your stomach; the familiar sense of dread that weighed you down uncomfortably like sandbags on your shoulders. Optimism and fear were fighting for dominance in your mind and for now you gave in to all the fears and worries. There would be no telling what path you would travel next, not until you spoke with Maria.

Steve wasn’t in yet so you were thankful to not have to run into him in the morning. The clicking of your heels against the tile floor echoed throughout the empty lobby. You couldn’t help but tap your foot, impatiently waiting for the elevator to arrive. Lost in thought you didn’t hear the footsteps of a person come up beside you. It wasn’t until you entered the elevator and were surprised to see someone else walk in.

Dressed in a sharp three-piece navy suit with a deep red tie stood Tony Stark. A perfectly trimmed goatee framed his smile as he took off his tinted sunglasses.

“G-good morning Mr. Stark,” you nervously greeted.

“Morning miss….” The word slithered on his tongue, dragging out the sound as he combed through the information of his brain to remember your last name. “Y/L/N!”

“You know who I am?” You didn’t mean to sound so pathetic but the words blurted out before you were able to stop them.

“That’s right kiddo. I know everybody that works for me,” he boasted.

He pressed his lips together forming a tight line, and he checked around the elevator as if you weren’t the only people there.

Tony leaned in closer to you, whispering, “Actually, that’s a lie. There’s one guy up in legal whose name I can’t ever remember. Is it Gary? Glenn? Gene? Geor– you know what, never mind. I know his face. That stays between us, okay?”

You nodded your head, but couldn’t help the odd chuckle that fell from your lips.

“So, are you angry?”

Your posture straightened, tensing up after his question caught you off guard.

“Before. The tapping?” He tapped his foot to mimic your earlier actions. “Pepper does that when she’s angry, usually at me.”

“Oh, no I… I’m just eager to speak with Maria about something.”

The elevator doors opened and Tony gestured for you to step out first.

“Might be a little difficult, she won’t be back for at least a few months.”

Worry settled on your face as Tony explained he asked Maria to head Stark International and begin overseeing their newest office in Australia.

“I had no idea…” you trailed off, wondering what this means not only for your internship but your job. “I’m her assistant…”

“That’s on me,” Tony said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, this was a real last minute decision. I know Maria thinks highly of you so if you’d like we can arrange for you to join her down unda,” he said with an accent.

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout. “I’m sorry. I can’t go there. I…I....” your voice trailed off as your lip began to tremble, feeling yourself plummet deeper and deeper into a pit of fear and uncertainty.

Tony noticed the panic on your face and the short gulps of breath you were taking. He guided you to the nearest chair and asked you to focus on taking long, deep breaths and blowing out steadily.

“You still have a job here if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said softly.

Tony’s eyes were full of compassion and based on everything you knew from Mr. Lee he made you feel comfortable enough to want to open up to him. With a deep sigh you explained your situation, from needing this job to afford an apartment up until the internship hours you were hoping to discuss with Maria, all the while still ensuring he knew how grateful you were for the job you had.

Tony pondered for a bit before the elevator opened and a few employees shuffled in, greeting him with surprise.

“Follow me,” he asked of you, following him to his grand corner office with floor to ceiling windows showcasing a beautiful view of the golden sunrise.

You took a seat on the soft leather chair in front of the sleek obsidian desk. His office was decorated with oversized black and white photos of old planes and cars, a few personalized touches and a small wet bar off to the side and yet everything seemed sterile. Maybe it was the way his own chair squeaked as he sat, like it was still being broken in.

Your fingers twiddled in your lap as you anxiously waited for Tony to break the silence. He gazed at you for a little longer, nodding slightly and quirking his head as if he was having a silent conversation with himself.

“Stan told me you were a good kid but I wish he knew about your background. I would’ve put you on my team a long time ago.”

Your head twitched, taken aback. “Your team?”

“Me, Pep, a few others. We’re in the beginning stages of building a nonprofit organization, The September Foundation. I want it to change lives; develop after school STEM programs, fund student research, the whole shebang.”

The tendency you had of not shutting your mouth when you should have continued as you questioned why he thought you were appropriate for this.

“You want to help people, same as I and being part of this doesn’t look so bad on a resume.”

“My hours…”

“...can be flexible,” he finished. “We’ll work out the details but the job is yours.”

Tears of joy flooded your eyes but you held them back, closing your lids with relief as things were finally coming together.

“Thank you Mr. Stark, thank you so much!”

You shook his hand enthusiastically and turned on your heel with a smile. You nearly made it to the door before realizing you had no idea what to do now especially with Maria no longer there.

An awkward bubble of laughter came up as you asked, “What should I be doing today Mr. Stark?”

“Please, call me Tony,” he flashed a bright smile. “Greg or Graham or whatever his name is will finalize the legal paperwork in the next few days. Use those days to brainstorm. Tell me what communities you think we need to be in, what would benefit most, what would draw kids in. On Monday you’ll meet with everyone else to go over ideas.”

With a renewed sense of spirit you went to your desk, first to write Maria a congratulatory email on her new position and then to call Ms. Rodriguez about the internship, afterwards you went straight to work.

“Steve!” you shouted before the elevator doors finished opening, running as best as you could in heels towards him. “I have so much to tell you! I got the internship! I have a new job here! I’m– ahhhhh!”

Steve wrapped you in a firm hug as your excited ramblings turned into squeals of joy.

“We have to celebrate!” you beamed. “I’ll call Wanda and Sam and…”

You stopped to think about Bucky. He was new in your life and yet somehow the idea of celebrating without him felt wrong.

Later that night you knocked on his door, sporting a wide smile that spread across your face. It stretched even wider when he opened the door and blessed you with a sparkling grin.

Opening your mouth you said the first words that came to mind, “Will you go out with me?”

PART 7

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

726 notes · View notes

coccinelle-et-chaton · 3 years

Text

*slips you a twenty*

Hey kid wanna read some lit fanfics?

I just updated my blog with a link to all my AO3 works

Also...... Chapter 8 of The Wall Between Us is up and it’d be cool if you read it or whatever, a bunch of us are gonna be there, we’re gonna cry and order pizza and suffer for the love square it’s gonna be cool

Read Chapter 8 on AO3 Start from the beginning here

Or on this post below the cut!

The Wall Between Us

Summary: Marinette is left to pick up the pieces after losing her chance with Adrien and having Master Fu give up his memories to protect the Miraculous Box. She struggles to find her ground as the new Guardian, and finds unexpected support in Luka Couffaine. Simultaneously, Adrien is learning how to navigate his emotions and slowly growing into his role as future co-guardian, and in the process realizes important truths about his feelings for Kagami, Marinette, and Ladybug. When Ladybug tells Chat Noir that as the Guardian, she is okay with not only revealing their identities but also entrusting her secret to close friends of hers, things become unequivocally complicated for the superhero duo. Will Marinette and Adrien be able to sort through their feelings and do what’s best for the Miraculous team?

Chapter 8

By the time Gabriel and Natalie had returned from their business trip to Seoul–and really, Adrien wasn’t even sure they had been gone at all due to the fact Akumas were aplenty during their absence– he had already extracted a good volume of information to make a case for his suspicions.

He hadn’t found the evidence he needed to prove that his father was indeed Hawkmoth, but instead he had found years of badly-filed fiscal reports, personnel that had been hired and fired under very mysterious conditions, some sort of project for the mansion that his father paid millions for which Adrien had never seen, and the one that irked him the most: audits from France’s Child Protection Services, fines, and ‘cease and desist’ letters warning Gabriel that he was putting Adrien under too many work hours.

That, he discovered, was the real reason why Adrien had been allowed to go to school in the first place. It wasn’t that Natalie had made him a favor: They enrolled him so that Child Protection Services would get off the brand’s neck for forcing Adrien on a part-time job when he wasn’t even sixteen yet.

All of Adrien’s findings were pretty incriminatory, not to mention infuriating, but none were exactly what he was looking for. And yet, it was one of those things that once you have considered, you cannot help but keep seeing.

“Adrien, would you like to explain to me why you have been missing your extracurricular activities for the past two weeks?” Natalie said with a stern voice one morning, as Adrien meticulously chewed on his oatmeal breakfast.

The fiery urgency to flip a table, which had taken a hold of him lately any time Natalie or his father addressed him, surged like a geyser.

“I just didn’t feel like attending,” he said politely, without looking up.

Natalie was taken aback by his answer. “Excuse me?”

Adrien looked up this time. “I didn’t feel like attending,” he repeated. “You weren’t here, and I just didn’t feel like going.”

“You know if you start doing poorly, your father will have you homeschooled again and–”

“And what? He’s gonna lock me up again? Is that it? Wouldn’t people start asking questions?” he demanded.

Natalie blinked, completely caught off guard by Adrien’s sudden rudeness. “This is no way to be talking to your–”

“My what? My dad’s assistant? You’re not my babysitter, not my teacher, and certainly not my mother. I can do whatever I want.”

Natalie composed herself and marched swiftly out of the dining room.

“Kid, what the hell?” Plagg hissed from inside his shirt. “That’s a dumb way to get caught.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered back. “I’m just… I’m so angry at them! I can’t stop thinking about all this stuff that I found, and just… the idea of them being–well, you know who. It’s making me see in red.”

He marched to the patio and went into his car, where, to his surprise, he found he’d be sharing a ride with his father.

He felt Plagg jabbing his little paws at him as if to say, “I told you so.”

“F-father. Good morning.”

“Drive, George,” Gabriel instructed. After a silence, he spoke again without looking at Adrien. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Disrespecting Natalie like that, blatantly disregarding your responsibilities, and giving the brand bad publicity.”

He threw a newspaper at Adrien’s lap. It was from a few days ago. Apparently his sudden outburst at the crowd of harassers in the skate park had made it into the news.

“I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to give you this much freedom.”

Adrien gulped, shuddering with sudden terror.

“Perhaps it will be better if you go back to being tutored at home. Or even better, I’ll send you to a boarding school where I don’t have to deal with your carelessness anymore.”

Adrien gasped. “Please… please don’t. Don’t send me away.”

“You’re not feeling so brave and boldened now, are you? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Adrien didn’t move. He didn’t dare speak, breathe, blink.

The car had stopped already, they were at the steps of the school. His friends were all hanging at the entrance and had spotted him.

“Your lack of words doesn’t surprise me. You’re just a naive, spoiled little boy who can’t begin to understand the sacrifices I make for this family… You’re dismissed.”

Adrien opened the door, not yet getting off the car.

“Are you going to take me off school?”

“No. Take it as a gesture of good will, and a warning. Stay. In. Line.”

“I-if you send me away, people will start wondering what happened,” he said with a small voice. “They’ll ask questions.”

“And what sort of questions would those be, son?”

At Adrien’s silence, Gabriel sighed. “Close the door. Have a good day.”

He got up and stood in front of the car, breathing deeply so as to not give into the urge to cry.

“I can’t wait to be eighteen to get away from you,” he said and smashed the door close as hard as he could, then sprinted into the school building, afraid that Gabriel might order George to stick him back in the car.

Regrettably, all his friends, Marinette included, saw the display unfold.

It was Nino the one who ran after him.

“Hey, dude, everything alright?” Nino said, as he caught up with him in the locker room.

“Hey Nino, good morning!” he chirped with sunny disposition.

The sudden contrast between what he had seen at the school entrance and then, gave Nino whiplash.

“Erm. Yes, good morning. Don’t ignore my question.”

“Nothing happened,” he said shrugging. “Come on, we’ll be late for—”

Nino yanked the strip from his messenger bag and forced him to stop. “Cut the crap, Adrien. I saw. Is everything alright?”

Adrien’s mask of optimism wavered, but he fought hard to keep it in place. “Yes, Nino. Everything’s alright. I promise.”

Nino sighed, not impressed. “Okay, if you say so.”

As they went into the classroom, Adrien saw from the corner of his eye how Nino shook his head discreetly at the girls. He had been right not to tell him. He knew those two would also want to know what happened. He didn’t want to cause hysteria. However, a more pressing thought occupied his mind for the rest of the day.

Given his regrettable display of temper, and though his father said he wouldn’t pull him out of school, Adrien knew not to trust it. One could never anticipate what his father would do just to stay in control. It worried him that he may have crossed a line that would be difficult to come back from. His father might increase his security, might actually pull him out of school. Not ideal, if his hunch was actually right.

He had to tell Ladybug what he knew as fast as possible.

On the lunch break, he excused himself to the bathroom, taking the burner phone with him to send Ladybug a message:

I DECIDED I’M READY TO REVEAL MY IDENTITY. SOMETHING CAME UP. DON’T WORRY, I’M NOT IN DANGER. BUT WOULD IT BE OKAY IF WE MEET AT THE HANG OUT TODAY? PLEASE WRITE ME BACK AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS.

He kept inconspicuously checking the burner phone for the rest of the day, getting no answer from Ladybug whatsoever. It made him restless. What if she was in danger?

No, she couldn’t be. There would have been an Akuma attack or something.

Still, he was worried, and he knew he couldn’t afford to go back home that day without having told Ladybug about his suspicions, so he resolved to drop by the hang-out anyway later that day. Natalie and George would pick him up after fencing, which gave him enough time to swing there and come back.

It only occurred to him that this might not be the greatest idea once he found himself sans transformation, standing at the door of the hide-out.

What if she wasn’t there today? What if she’s shocked by learning who he is?

He shook his head. No. This was an emergency. He had to do it now, so he ringed the bell.

He texted: LB DID YOU GET MY MESSAGE?

Almost immediately, he got a text back: YES :) I AM HERE. WAIT A SEC. WILL OPEN THE DOOR SOON.

His heartbeat so fast he could hear his pulse. He was short of breath and felt as if his knees would buckle under him at any second.

He heard some voices, then someone approaching to open the door.

Adrien felt temped to open it himself just get over the painful anticipation. The seconds extended for an eternity.

And then, all of a sudden, he was greeted with a most confused Alya Cesaire.

“Alya?”

She crumpled her face, perplexed. “Adrien? What are you doing–”

From inside the house, Adrien distinctly heard the voice of none other than Marinette. “Alya? Is that him?”

It took him a fraction of a second to figure out something that had taken him two–almost three now– years to realize. It felt as if time had stopped and then abruptly resumed, pushing him into a turbulent shore of angry waves.

All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe, impossible to buoy to the surface for a gasp of air. His voice caught up in his throat.

He figured it out.

“Alya?” Marinette repeated from inside the house as Alya stood petrified in front of Adrien, realizing exactly who he was.

“Don’t–” he said gasping. “Don’t tell her,” he pleaded and then darted away as fast as he could possibly run, only stopping when the tears completely blurred his vision.

Back at the house, Marinette was trembling from the utter anticipation. She had requested that Alya come with her to meet Chat. She wasn’t sure she could take it by herself and she needed someone for moral support.

The seconds of wait stringed into whole minutes of silence and Marinette forced herself to march to the front of the house, where Alya was still clinging to the frame.

She was… were those tears? Was she crying?

“Alya?” she asked with trepidation. “What happened?”

“Chat— Oh, Marinette!” She gasped. “Chat was here. He was–he wasn’t transformed.”

Dread came over Marinette’s expression. “Where is he?” she insisted urgently, “What happened?”

“He– he’s gone. Mari, you need to talk to him. You–we… we know him.”

She blinked, too shocked to let fear take ahold of her. “What? Who is he?”

Alya shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” Marinette demanded.

“Marinette, I can’t tell you. You’ll never forgive me if I do… Just… You have to go talk to him, Mari.”

Marinette sprinted outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘someone she knew’, but it was the beginning of rush hour and the streets flooded with commuters, anonymizing everyone. She called and called and called him. Left him voice mail after voice mail, message after message:

CHAT NOIR PLEASE PICK UP! I’M WORRIED, PLEASE!

CHAT.

CHAT PLEASE.

ALYA SAYS YOU KNOW HER, SO MAYBE YOU ALSO KNOW ME... I’M SORRY IF YOU’RE DISAPPOINTED IT’S ME. CAN WE PLEASE JUST TALK?

MINOU. PLEASE. TALK TO ME.

CHAT NOIR, I KNOW YOU’RE MAD. PLEASE, JUST… PLEASE PICK UP.

Chat Noir did not pick up the phone and Marinette, well, Marinette had not been this brokenhearted since Adrien had started dating Kagami, and that was saying something.

Adrien didn’t sleep that night. He hadn’t cried this much since he lost his mother, hadn’t felt this much either.

He never was one to give into negative emotions, but when they got the best of him, they pulled him deep into an abyss that was hard to crawl out of. If any butterflies came flying his way, he wouldn’t have known. Plagg kept guard the entire night.

“I can’t do this anymore, Plagg,” he confessed. “I can’t–I can’t be Chat Noir anymore. It hurts too much.”

“Kid don’t say things like that,” said Plagg as Adrien sobbed. “I’m sure there’s a way to fix this.”

“She loves someone else,” he cried. “I can’t… She’ll never love me, Plagg. It doesn’t matter if I wear the mask or not.”

“That’s not true,” Plagg said, fetching the burner phone. “Look at how worried that poor thing is for you.”

Adrien kept crying. “She doesn’t love me the way I love her. I won’t stand in her way.”

The next morning, Adrien had to put on very little effort to act indisposed for school. He hadn’t come down with anything, but he felt sick. At one point during the night, he had been so caught up in his crisis that he ended up emptying his stomach. In the morning he had woken up from the few hours of sleep he managed to clock in with an insulting headache and even worse nausea than before.

He called in sick and remitted to his room for the next couple days.

It was funny. He never remembered feeling safe or at home in his room. It was too big, too cold for him and somehow at the same time, too small, too stuffy. It was as if his dad had tried to fit in the entire world inside it in the hopes that he’d never want to see the real thing himself.

It wasn’t comfort what made him feel like he belonged there. It was the fact that for once, his surroundings completely matched his state of mind. This is how he felt: as empty and grey as the mansion had been since his mother disappeared, as much of a prisoner as his father intended for him to be.

He groaned at the sound of his civilian phone chiming non-stop with messages from Nino asking if his father had done something to him, Marinette offering him any help if he needed it–these were the ones that hurt him the most to read–, and finally, Alya, who was not sending messages so much as entire monologues begging him to answer at least Ladybug.

He turned off both his civilian phone and the one for Ladybug, hoping there would be no Akumas while he was in this state.

With Chat gone, Marinette regressed into the sort of grief that shut her down when she became the Guardian. She didn’t stop showing up to school, mainly at Alya’s pressing insistence, but it was evident to the class that something was going on with her again.

A few of her more curious friends and acquaintances ask her if everything’s alright with Luka, which only added to her mortification. She hadn’t been herself these past days and she wasn’t exactly sure she’d be able to explain to Luka why she was so brokenhearted without giving her identity away; why Chat’s sudden rejection was way more painful than anything she ever had to go through. So, against her better judgement, she decided to ignore him for a couple days, at least until she was able to sort her head through the situation.

The truth is Chat’s disappearance–not only this one but every time he’s been convinced he’s not cut out to be her partner–hurled her into a spiral of helplessness not just because she couldn’t fathom doing this without him. There was another reason, one she always purposefully ignored.

It’s like she had told Alya: She had feelings for Chat Noir. It had become easier to ignore them with time, and especially when she could just invest all of her romantic attention on Adrien before Luka came around. But the thing with being in love with Adrien is that she was in love with the idea of him. The idea of being together if she could only one day bring herself to tell him. He was an outlet of sorts–more often than Marinette liked to admit out loud– to feelings she could never show, as they were forbidden.

The second reason why Marinette always fell into despair when Chat Noir surrendered or try to surrender his ring, was because she actually loved him. If she was honest, completely, absolutely honest, she loved him. But she could never tell him, it was Master Fu’s orders not to get involved with him, not to reveal their identities. She maneuvered through those restrictions by effectively fooling herself into believing that one day, in the far future when Hawkmoth was defeated and the stakes wouldn’t be so high, she’d tell him and then everything would be okay. She’d tell him the way you admit to a school crush on one of those high school reunions or unlikely encounters as adults.

Chat surrendering his ring always cut that fantasy short.

What is worse, Marinette realized, was that this time she wasn’t using the idea of someone to distract herself from the way she felt. She was using Luka. Luka, who has been nothing but supportive and absolutely selfless. Luka, who loved her, who didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Marinette cried in part because this was Chat being typical Chat. But also, because she realized she would eventually need to let go of Luka, and she didn’t want to do that, no matter how wrong it was to keep him to herself. Maybe she just needed to try harder, maybe she just needed to shut down the idea of Chat as she had done before.

The problem was that ignoring him was impossible in this circumstance. Ladybug was about to lose her Cat for good.

“Mari,” Alya said softly as she rubbed her friend’s back as Marinette sprawled over her lap. They were in Marinette’s room. “I think he was just shocked. He’ll come around.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” she asked desperately. “I can’t do this without him, Alya. You-you wouldn’t understand. I can’t explain it… I just can’t do it if he’s not there.”

Alya gave her a pained smile.

Oh, this was all so rotten, Alya thought. And Marinette didn’t even know the beginning of it. Alya found herself wondering what would have happened if they had actually revealed their identities before things got complicated off and on the hero costume. It probably would have saved everyone a whole lot deal of pain.

“He will,” she reassured him. “Trust me, he will.”

Alya gave it a few days. But when the end of a week arrived and there was still no sign of Adrien, she decided she probably overestimated him. Nino was mad at him for virtually disappearing, Marinette was growing worried that something had happened to him, not to mention that his disappearance as Chat Noir was truly causing a number on her.

So, she did what she did best: take action.

She asked her teachers for Adrien’s homework worksheets and on she went Friday after school to confront what would be very possibly a mess even bigger than Marinette’s.

She sighed, rang at the gate of the Agrestes’ mansion and waited for the camera to activate.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Miss Sancoeur. I’m Alya, I’m in Adrien’s class. I’m here to give him his work for the week he missed.”

“Deposit it on the bin, please,” Natalie said, as an automated door slid open. to receive the packet of books.

“Actually, I was hoping I could see him? There’s a few things that our Social Studies teacher asked me to explain to him about a specific assignment,” she said, beaming.

“Adrien has come down with a bad case of the flu, I am sure it wouldn’t be safe for you.”

“Don’t worry ma’am. I got all my shots up to date.”

Natalie sighed and after a few minutes of deliberation, the gates opened. She met Alya at the front door and directed her to the floor where Adrien’s room was. “Down the hall, first door to the right,” she instructed. “I have to warn you. Adrien has specifically requested not to receive visitors.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” she said with determination in her eyes. “Thanks!” Alya flashed her a smile and once Natalie had returned to her office, proceeded to barge into Adrien’s room.

The blinds were all drawn, only letting in slivers of light. The air was stuffy, like no one had opened the windows in a good while. It also smelled disgustingly of spoiled cheese.

There were clothes and dishes and all kinds of things lying everywhere. Alya did not remember Adrien ever being this messy.

Both the three displays of his computer and the television were on with different shows each, mixing the occasional strands of yellow light from the windows with the morbid blue of the screens.

A lump, which she supposed was the culprit himself, lay buried in a mountain of blankets and pillows. It seemed he hadn’t noticed her–or in the very least, he didn’t care someone had entered the room.

“That’s it!” Alya announced, dropping her school bag unceremoniously as she huffed and puffed making way through the catastrophe of a room he had, to draw the curtains back and open the windows letting in fresh air and the sounds of the city. She then proceeded to turn off every screen and to yank, almost with unnecessary force, the blankets off of Adrien.

“What?” Adrien groaned.

“That’s it!” Alya said. “Get up. Get up this instant or so help me god, I’m going to toss you directly into your bathtub, clothes still on.”

“Alya?” He seemed confused. “What are you doing here?”

She proceeded to make piles of the different kinds of trash to make it easier to bag them later, and discarded plates and cups as she gagged at the smell.

“Seriously, what is that stench?”

“Camembert,” he explained, not finding it in himself to feel ashamed. “For my Kwami. He doesn’t eat anything else.”

Alya eyed him with disbelief and shook her head. “What are you doing there, just looking? Go take a shower!”

“But–”

“Go. Take. A. Shower. Adrien Agreste.”

A little afraid to continue questioning her, Adrien made his way to the bathroom and emerged a good twenty minutes later still in pajamas. Fresh ones at that, but still.

“You live like a pig,” Alya berated him as she took a seat in the couch in front of the television.

“I’m not– why are you here? Did you just come in to criticize me?” Adrien complained, joining her.

“First of all, no. I came in to make sure you were still alive, seeing as you decided to literally disappear off the face of this earth telling absolutely nobody. Nino is livid, by the way. Will love to see how you explain yourself out of that one. Oh, and there’s been Akumas, not that you’d even get the memo in this bunker, so I had to pitch in as Rena. You’re welcome.”

Adrien looked down.

“Second. I knew. I knew you were going to do this; lock yourself up here and wallow in your self-pity. And I knew somebody needed to come here to make you snap out of it,” she said, giving him a gentle slap on his head.

“Hey!”

“Am I wrong?” Alya demanded. Being met with silence, she nodded. “My point exactly.”

“Third,” she continued. “You think you have it bad? Try being Marinette for a little bit and have your oh-so-trusted partner of years now, suddenly bail on you with no explanation after realizing who she is. How could that possibly look to her, huh?”

“Marinette?” he said softly. “Is… is she alright? I didn’t mean to–”

“Shush. Don’t interrupt, I'll see that you get your chance to apologize to her, don't you worry your pretty face. Fourth. You sir,” she said poking her index finger at his chest. “Need to put on your big-boy pants and deal with your shit like the superhero you are.”

“And fifth,” she said, the fire in her eyes lightly subduing. “There’s homework,” she said pointing at her bag. “I brought it for you.”

Adrien became small in his seat as he took in Alya’s numbered series of complaints. Meanwhile, Plagg came out of hiding, knowing Alya already knew of his and Ladybug's identity.

“I like the way this one talks,” he said, munching a piece of cheese. “Finally, someone with some goddamn common sense!”

“You’re… Plagg?” Alya said.

“Have we met?” Plagg retorted. “Ah yes, Marinette’s friend on the door the other day. Of course. Either way, you have to know. I would’ve kicked him off the bed myself but well, I’m the size of a tennis ball.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Adrien said quietly, gaining the attention of the pair. “I know… I know I keep messing things up. Which is precisely why I’m not going to be Chat Noir anymore.”

“What?” Alya said, widening her eyes.

Adrien brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on top of them. “I just make everything worse,” he explained. “I keep messing up. And I… I know she used to have a crush on me, as Adrien. I don’t want to get in the way of her and Luka…”

“Adrien,” Alya said softly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but for such a smart guy, you’re pretty darn stupid sometimes.”

Adrien couldn’t help the sudden chuckle that escaped his lips.

“Why on earth do you think that would be a good idea? Have we not met the same Marinette, or, Ladybug in this case? For a reason that’s entirely beyond me, the girl crumbles if you’re not the one to help her up. It’s like… like she wouldn’t believe anything unless it comes from you. You should have seen the certified dumpster fire the last Akuma was. We were all over the place without you.”

Tears fell down his cheeks, and in that moment, Alya knew to knock down her tough-love strategy down a notch. Yes, this was Chat Noir. But it was also Adrien, and while Chat may react to confrontation, Adrien would do anything but.

She clicked her teeth. “Oh, Sunshine. Don’t cry,” she said as she pulled Adrien into a hug.

“I don’t think I can do it, Alya… I’ll make everything worse.”

“You keep saying that, Adrien. But why?”

“I–I think I know who Hawkmoth is,” he admitted in the quietest possible murmur, followed by a sob.

“What…? Adrien, look at me. What do you mean you know who Hawkmoth is?” she said, eyes wide with concentration.

“I figured it out,” he said, hiccupping as he tried to stop crying. “That’s why I went to the hide-out that day. I wasn’t ready to reveal my identity, but I had been stupid with my dad and I thought he might pull me out of school so I knew I had to tell her what I knew before my dad could lock me up or send me away. The first time she took me to the hide-out, I was browsing through some of the documents… Then I found this, this scanned page about the Peacock Miraculous from one of the grimoires and I knew I recognized it from somewhere.” He looked up with an ominous look. “My dad,” he explained. “He has this safe that I once broke into out of curiosity. And he had the missing grimoire in the set and also the brooch. I snuck in his office to investigate and they weren’t in the safe anymore. Then, I found all these documents… he’s been spending money in weird ways, making orders to companies that don’t exist… If he’s Hawkmoth and Natalie is Mayura… that’s–that’s why I had to tell Ladybug. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if she found out who I was and thought that I was part of it all. Alya I’m so scared… I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, Adrien,” she said softly. “And why didn’t you stick around to tell her that?”

“Because I’ve been in love with her since I met her, okay? I panicked,” he said, now a bit more exasperated. “You– I don’t think you and Nino know what it’s like, it all came so easy to you. But for me… It was so hard to get over her as Ladybug, then realizing that I was really in love with Marinette, and now–”

“Wait, you’re in love with Marinette?” Alya interrupted, jaw on the floor.

“Did Nino not tell you?”

“No! We don’t gossip about what you guys tell us!… I mean, unless it's really important, but that's besides the point! Holy shit, this is so complicated,” she said with a long sigh, plopping her back against the couch. She groaned as she processed the information. “Why are you two like this?” she exclaimed, rubbing her face in frustration. “Okay, but about your whole theory,” she said, once she recovered. “I think that doesn’t prove much, Adrien. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

Adrien shook his head. “I know what I saw, Alya. He had the Peacock Miraculous.”

“But that could mean anything. It could be a replica; I’ve read a lot of studies tracking the history of each jewel. People have tried replicating them to scam others.”

“It’s Natalie, Alya,” Adrien said with less patience. “Natalie is Mayura,” he said. “I just know it…” He sighed. “I don’t know how to tell Marinette. I don’t want to make things complicated for her.”

Alya thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I got it. What you have right now is a lead, at best. We need to come up with a plan to prove your theories. And Marinette doesn’t need to know how you found it. I didn’t tell her that it was you at the door that day, so really, you could just tell her there’s reason to believe that Gabriel might be Hawkmoth. You tell her your sources is someone close to the Agrestes.”

“What if she asks who the specific source is?”

“We’ll get to that bridge when we cross it.”

“Half-baked plans don’t work on Ladybug,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Perhaps. But she won’t press if she knows your identity is at stake. And for what it’s worth, Adrien, I really do think you should just come clean. About your identity, I mean. It would make everything easier for both of you. I know it must be super scary but... At least promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

-- “Well, you look like shit,” Juleka commented a bit amused as Luka joined for breakfast before school. He hadn’t been sleeping well and it showed. He simply gave Juleka a ‘I’m not in the mood to fuck around’ smile and begrudgingly served himself a bowl of cereal.

“What is it?” Juleka insisted.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Jules.”

“It’s Marinette, isn’t it?” she asked, sounding more like she already had an answer.

Luka sighed and said nothing.

“She’s still not answering your messages?”

Luka shook his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Nothing, probably.”

Luka looked up at his sister, who shrugged at him. “Alya says there’s something going on with her family or something, and she’s really having a hard time with it. It’s probably only that.”

Luka appreciated the fact Juleka tried to cheer him up, but he already knew Marinette wasn’t answering because of family trouble. It had been no secret that Chat Noir had been absent in the last few Akumas. Coincidentally, Juleka had mentioned Adrien had been missing school the last few days, so he knew something must have happened between them. Maybe a fight, it was anyone’s guess. The only thing he knew is that he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t stand that he couldn’t do anything about it, that Marinette wouldn’t actually tell him why she was hiding–to be honest, he also was unsure he even wanted to know. The prospect of her crying to him for a guy who has broken her heart not once, but twice now, did not appeal to him in the slightest bit.

Adrien Agreste was so stupid! He was an idiot! And yet, Luka couldn’t help but wonder if Marinette would ever cry for him like that, even if the last thing he’d ever want to do was to hurt Marinette the same way Adrien had. If she’d ever trust him as blindly as she trusted Chat Noir or love him just the same.

He sighed, trying to push the thought away. Lately, he had run out of strategies to keep his jealousy at bay and so, defeated, he simply tried to ignore his feelings as best as he could, not knowing what else to do. Giving into the feeling made him think horrible things about Adrien, which he was sure weren’t true. Confronting them brought up a proposition that made him break a cold sweat, which although extremely painful, had begun to make a case for itself. It was something he didn’t want to do, but that he suspected would be the best for both of them in the end:

Break up with Marinette.

30 notes · View notes

overdrivels · 4 years

Text

Moving money in the Overwatch world is somewhat of a subplot in TWtaH. I was reading an article just this morning about how money-laundering is at a standstill because criminals are having a hard time transporting and exchanging their ill-gotten gains in this Covid-19 lockdown. So that got me thinking about Overatch’s currency--credit.

I don’t really think ‘credit’ as a currency is canon in the Overwatch world. I just took the cash shop stuff and shoehorned it into the story because I didn’t want to use specific currencies like ‘bitcoin’ or ‘dogecoin’ or whatever else is out there.

With cryptocurrency, you get exchange goods and services without having to physically interact with any paper or coin money. On an individual level, it just means that a pandemic such as COVID-19 wouldn’t stop people from paying for stuff and no one has to worry about transmitting disease using money as a carrier. On a much larger-scale like money-laundering, the story becomes a little different.

We understand that the original concept behind bitcoin is, at a very high level, a representation of money (”cryptocurrency”) that is traded for goods and services. There is no central governing authority (decentralization), it is mostly anonymous, and very secure (or as secure as your password and wallet ID is anyway) because the code behind it sure is.

There are pros and cons to this. Let’s address the three ones I mentioned:

1) No central governing authority. This means that whatever cryptocurrency we’re talking about isn’t controlled by anyone. No federal government, no international government, nothing. That means no singular entity can lock you out of your money if suddenly let’s say all banks fail or something or government declares some law that suspends withdrawal of money.

On the flip side, that also means there’s no one to regulate the money. For example, 1 bitcoin is worth whatever the fuck the people decide. This leads to instability and the rollercoaster of having bitcoin being worth $10k per bitcoin to suddenly dropping to $6k per bitcoin in a three day period. It is incredibly unstable. This also means there are no laws governing what happens if you get scammed or the like or anything to protect the consumer. If you lose your money, it’s your fault (by and large).

2) It is mostly anonymous. Yes and no. Yes, as in your name and social security number isn’t blatantly associated with your wallet ID. In theory, you could set up like five or six wallets and trade that way to obfuscate (hide) your activities. Then there’s the ‘no’. Similar to how police can triangulate where your cellphone is based on which cellphone tower your phone pinged last, investigators can get a general idea of who you are, and what transactions were made. Bitcoin specifically uses a public ledger to record all trades. If they see $400 come from wallet A to wallet B with the same amount and transaction ID, they may have a match. Then there’s recording IPs and the like. Lots of contextual data that can be used to track someone down if someone was determined enough.

3) It’s mostly secure. This one is the backbone of cryptocurrency. There’s not much to say except it’s based on algorithms. Really, really annoying to crack algorithms. It’s not exactly possible to steal money unless you have access to the person’s wallet and password. However, this goes back to point 1 where if you lost your wallet or had it stolen, there is no central authority that can really help you.

Okay, so why the fuck am I talking about this?

I’d imagine that with the development of omnics and the progression of omnic rights, Overwatch’s world may have evolved to move away from physical money to digital currency and to keep paper money around kind of as a novelty or only used in really remote places. Having digital money means paying people more reliably, paying people faster, less errors, and less hassle.

(I messed up a little in my fic and I’m thinking of retconning it to remove the part about different countries and their currencies still having different exchange rates. Instead, I might just say that they still use the same symbols they always used to indicate money and the numbers are in credits instead.)

Anyway, back to the three points again. I think in the world of Overwatch, if cryptocurrency were to become the norm, they would first get rid of point #1. They would absolutely centralize the fuck out of it. It’s money. What bank, what government, what nation wouldn’t want to have control over money? If it’s global, I’d assume the World Bank would create a branch specifically dealing with cryptocurrency. They issue the regulations, they do the audits, they handle the interest rates, inflation, and everything related to the control of money. Then the banks of each nation would accommodate that. Though, with the obsolesce of physical money and different exchange values, that can imply that currency is no longer really tied to anything. Up until the end of WWI or Great Depression (I forget which), the de facto standard was gold (hence ‘gold standard’). How much physical gold you had is how much wealth your nation had and it was translated into paper money. But then the Great Depression(?) happened and then that became stupid. Now the monetary system is based on 'fiat money’, so I guess it’s not too dissimilar to a full cryptocurrency system. It’s just that there won’t be any bills.

Next is the anonymization. If it becomes centralized, I can’t imagine how it would remain anonymous. Money-laundering and bypass of trade sanctions would be rampant. It’d be an international disaster and undo the many years of regulatory law each nation has put in place. (Look, money is a serious business. Look up regulatory compliance, look up OFAC, look up KYC, and the like. It is a very, very big deal.) So, lack of anonymization would likely take place. However! That doesn’t mean it’s not possible.

Point 3 is an interesting one because it is literally the backbone of cryptocurrency as we know it in 2020. This might actually create a problem. If someone, let’s say a super omnic or the like is about to figure out the algorithms used to generate and validate new cryptocurrency, wouldn’t that mean money is worthless? Whoever can figure this out can essentially make themselves infinite money and then tank the economies of powerful world nations. Because you can’t print physical money anymore, so now you have to spoof digital money. Security (specifically cybersecurity) would be super huge and the tools to protect this crytocurrency generating process would be unworldly. Maybe even Sombra’d have a hard time cracking it.

Though, digital currency does pose one itsy-bitsy problem. The poor. The criminals. The underdeveloped. The current issues plaguing us now and why we don’t see contactless payments everywhere. There could be a billion reasons why a person cannot get a credit card or some form of contactless payment ranging from poor self-control to shitty credit scores as a result of their reckless youth but they know better now, victim of constant identity theft, unable to afford any fees if they were to occur, etc. So, how does cryptocurrency overcome this? It can’t. Not unless restrictions on who can use financial facilities are non-existent such as anyone can open an account regardless of current financial status and the like, or unless it’s something that is automatically given to every person regardless of their current status in life, etc. There’s a ton of restrictions, but we assume Overwatch’s world has already overcome these.

Finances are complicated. Monetary systems are complicated. I’m having a hell of a time picking this stuff apart. There’s pros and cons to all of this stuff. If the cryptocurrency stuff is centralized and people are reliant on it to live, people can easily get locked out of their methods of living. On the flip side, if there’s no central governing body, we’ll see the insane fluctuation of the market that could very well spell the life or death of nations.

In TWtaH, donors are giving to an account managed by the Chef. Chef redistributes this money under the name of the restaurant and under the guise of paying vendors and the like. With the above points in mind, it’ll be a spoiler to talk about it anymore, but a lot of this stuff is relevant.

#drivels drivels #to new followers #good luck because this blog is mostly me toying with real world ideas as applied to overwatch #and i talk about finances fairly often #i just wanted to talk about money and money laundering #welcome to my infodumps #back on my mundane bullshit #fuck there i go again talking about one topic and rabbitholing down something else

8 notes · View notes

lightningfists · 5 years

Text

Homecoming: Chapter 1

Fandom: MCU

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The city boys are amazed by the life of a farmer.

Words: 1670

A/N: It’s spooktober and you know what that means-- yep, harvest! I’ve lived on a farm my whole life so that’s what this story is based on. I’ll be including some things from my actual life too! Not in this first part, but later ones, when the fun stuff happens. And apparently Clint lives in Missouri, but he was born in Iowa, so we’re just going to pretend that he lives there. (because I’m from Iowa and I say so.) I usually write in first person, but this is gonna be in third, so bear with me and we’ll both get through it. I don’t write a lot, so I don’t have a posting schedule. I’m going to try to get a part out for this once a week. If not, it’ll be every other week. Again, just bear with me. Oh, and this is for @dreamwritesimagines writer’s block writing challenge. It ends on the 31st but i’m sure you can do it anytime. :)) Awesome title board by @justkending

To Y/N, having a degree in Business Management was pretty broad. It was something that could get you a job pretty much anywhere if you wanted to. So imagine her shock when she managed to land a job at the Avengers Compound. She didn’t even know they were hiring, or even had jobs to offer for that matter. Tony had said that Pepper had been nagging at him to find someone to help her out because while she was able to do everything herself, she’d greatly appreciate the extra help. So he began looking.

When May rolled around, he got lists of the top students from the top colleges in every state and began sifting through them. When he got it down to 20, he gave the list to Pepper for her to choose. She looked at everyone’s credentials, what they did while in school, where they graduated, their gpa, the works. She landed on Y/N. Just finished her Master’s at Columbia, graduating Cum Laude, Magna Cum Lade in her undergrad. Clearly she was smart. Nothing though could prepare her for working for the Avengers.

A few months had passed and it was now November. The need for the world to be saved had been slowing down, which was probably a good thing. Maybe everyone could finally rest for a little bit. Some of the crew had just returned from a mission, as signaled by the whirring of a quinjet landing outside. They entered the building, battered and tired. Y/N had been walking through, looking over some papers that had to be signed before being sent out. She heard the chatter and looked up, a bright smile on her face.

“Tony! Just the man I needed to see!” she nods at the others, “Nat, gentlemen.”

“Aren’t I always?” he says with a smirk.

She just rolls her eyes, “I need these signed so they can get in the mail tomorrow. Then Pepper and I will be caught up.”

“That’s great! You truly have been a Godsend for her.”

A light blush appears on her cheeks. She waves him off, “Just doing my job.” she hands him the papers. “Pink tabs are signatures, yellow initials.”

“Godsend. I’ll get it to you within the hour.”

She nods and heads off, the click of her heels fading as she walks down a hallway.

Relaxing in her room, Y/N flips through a photo album that she’d gotten as a present while she was in college. It had pictures of her older brother’s family- wife and kids, two boys. Who, if she did the math right, were five and three now? Wow. She missed out on a lot. She missed them. And her parents. It had been six years and now a few months since she’d seen them last.

She didn’t even realize a tear had left her until she saw a droplet on the last page of the album. She wiped her face and put it back in her side table. Getting up, she walked to her door and opened it. Walking toward the kitchen, she overheard something interesting.

“-back to Iowa? You really want to do that?”

You see, being from a flyover state means that whenever you’re out of state and meet someone from home, you’re basically best friends. Especially if you’re from the midwest, where being nice is just a part of your DNA. “Iowa nice?” Yeah, it’s a real thing. So imagine Y/N’s excitement when she heard one of the Avengers mention her lovely home state.

She peeks around the corner and see Clint, Tony, and Steve chatting, cleaned up and having a cup of coffee. Tony was sitting at the island finishing up reading the contract and signing. Clint and Steve were standing across from him, leaning on the island. It was like they sensed her because it’s only but a couple minutes before they turn around and saw her.

“Need something, Y/N?” Steve asks.

She walks into the kitchen towards them. “Sorry. I just heard someone mention Iowa and it piqued my interest.”

“That was me,” Clint raised his had a little, “you from there”

She smiles and nods, “Born and raised.”

“Me too. Small world.”

“How did I not know this?”

“I asked Fury to keep it off my records, to keep my family safe.”

“Ah, makes sense.”

Tony jumps in, “We were just talking about having a boys weekend at Clint’s place-”

Clint interjects, “-you were talking.”

Tony smiles but ignores his words, “I suppose you could come too if you wanted to visit home.” Her eyes go wide and she can’t help from smiling. “How long will it take you to pack?”

“I can be ready in..” she looks up and thinks for a moment, “30 minutes?”

“Alright. Wheels up in 30.”

She runs excitedly back to her room and starts packing. She can’t wait to call her parents and hear the excitement in their voices when she tells them she’s finally coming home.

30 minutes later Clint, Tony, Steve, and a very eager Y/N are up in the air. Once at altitude, she unbuckles and starts pacing around the quinjet, trying to get rid of her excess energy.

“You okay there, Y/N?” Clint asks.

“Uh, yeah, mhmm,“ she replies, trying to keep a straight face. It quickly breaks into a smile, “I’m just so excited! I haven’t been home since I started college.“

“Really? Why?“ Steve asks. She can tell he’s kind of concerned, she’s not sure why though, but he leans forward in interest. She turns around and Tony is looking at her too, awaiting the answer.

“Well, out-of-state tuition is no joke. And it didn’t help that I went to an Ivy League school. We just couldn’t afford for me to fly home every school break. And then I decided to get my Master’s, so that was another two years. Then Tony somehow found me and offered me a job right after that. Working with Pepper, as you know,“ They all nod, waiting for her to continue, “and you guys saving the world and everything... you don’t really make it easy to take time off. Despite me being behind the scenes. I just did the math today actually. It’s been just about six and a half years since I’ve been home.”

The three men look at her, almost expressionless. “Y/N...” Tony began, “you should have said something. I would have let you go home for a week or so.”

She looks at him, raising a brow, “Right after you hired me? I will be honest, hiring me right out of college was inconvenient, but I wanted to at least get a little bit of money in my account so I could take a weekend or week off and surprise them.” she looks around the quinjet, “this’ll have to do though.”

He smiles at her, “Still. From now on, tell me if you want to go home, and I’ll pay for your flight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She continues walking around the quinjet. She’d never actually been on one before. It was spacious. There was a loading dock where two cars could fit, they’d only brought one of Tony’s for this trip; the seats were along each side and there was a digital table of some sort in the middle, probably for planning out attacks on missions; there was a whole second floor, which was where the cockpit and beds were, for the unbearably long flights. It was quite the looker if she were being honest. Probably better than a private jet...which Tony probably also had. After exploring, she came back to where the three men were.

“Hey Tony, I can make calls from this thing right? It’s not like a normal plane where I have to turn off my phone and wait till I land?”

He nods, “Right. You’ve got cell service, wifi, the whole nine yards.”

“Perfect.” Y/N takes her phone out of her pocket and dials her mother’s phone number. It only rings once before there’s an answer. “Hi Ma! I know, it’s been a couple weeks, I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy. … Yes, I’m doing fine. … Yes, the pay is good too.” she doesn’t look up but she knows Tony has a smirk on his face, “I was going to keep this a surprise but I can’t hold it in any longer. Is dad home? … Oh, okay. I’ll just have to call him later. You ready? … I’M COMING HOME!” there’s a scream on the other side of the line, and she pulls it away from her ear, annoyed but smiling, “yeah, I’ll be home..well, I’m not sure when I’ll be home, but we’ll be landing in a couple hours. … How am I calling you? Oh. Just a second,” she puts her phone to her shoulder and looks over at Tony.

“Can I tell her I work for you? Or is that like against Avengers rules?”

He thinks about it for a moment before answering, “Yeah go ahead. As long as it doesn’t get outside of your family.”

She nods and brings her phone back to her ear, “I’m back. I guess this is surprise number two. This has to stay inside the walls of the house though, mom. It’s important. I work at the Avengers Compound! … Yes, for Tony Stark! Well actually, his wife Pepper, but it’s still a pretty cool job. Yeah, anyway, we’re on a quinjet, which is just a really fancy plane that has cell service and wifi and stuff. It’s really cool. I’ll take pictures to show you. … Oh okay, tell him I say hi! … Yes you can tell him that I’m on my way. … I’ll call you again once we’ve landed and I’m on the road. Bye!”

She hangs up and looks at the three men, slightly embarrassed, “As you can tell, she’s pretty excited. I just can’t wait to be home.”

#steve rodgers x reader #avengers x reader #homecoming #homecoming story #steve x reader #steve rogers series #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #captain america #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #marvel ff #mcu fanfiction #mcu ff

53 notes · View notes

nythroughthelens · 5 years

Photo

I didn't know I was blind in one of my eyes until I was 24 years old My first eye exam was courtesy of the New York City public school system. I was 9 years old.

That year a dentist and eye doctor visited the school to give exams to children whose parents couldn't afford such vital health services. Falling squarely into that less than fortunate category, I was able to get my eyes examined for the first time.

The exam was rushed. I remember the eye doctor's crisp white coat and his gruff tone. I was asked to read a chart on a wall with my right eye.

I replied quietly that I couldn't read the letters.

The doctor appeared only slightly bothered, “Not even the top letter?”

I heard myself apologize automatically, “No, sorry sir.”

“Are you sure ?”, he asked sounding slightly perturbed.

I started to question reality, “yes?”

And that was the end of the exam.

I was diagnosed with a lazy eye and prescribed glasses with one comically thick pane of glass on the right side.

I wore glasses like that for years. I also had chronic headaches. At a subsequent visit with another eye doctor in my early teens, headache concerns and failure to read letters on the eye chart with my right eye were interpreted as a need for a stronger prescription.

When I was 18 years old, I moved out on my own and I stopped wearing glasses. I broke the one pair of glasses that I had and since I didn't have money for eye exams I concluded that it didn't matter anyway. My internal reasoning was that if I had a lazy eye, it wanted to be lazy. Why bother it further? Let it be lazy if it wants.

My headaches stopped.

Years passed.

When I was 24 years old, I finally got health insurance from one of my jobs. Feeling residual guilt over not wearing glasses for years, I booked an appointment with an ophthalmologist. The exam involved a lot of questions, lights, and intricate machinery.

At the end of the exam the doctor said: “I am about to ask you a strange question. What ear do you use when you use the phone?”

I answered without hesitation: “Oh! My left ear. That's my good ear.”

She then asked what no other eye doctor had ever asked me.

She asked me what I saw out of my right eye.

I felt seen for the first time.

I had never articulated a response to the question that she asked and I replied: “ I see scattered light only the light looks like it's being seen through broken glass like light through a crushed kaleidoscope.”

Hearing myself say those words out loud was revelatory.

The doctor told me that she suspected I had cortical blindness with blindsight (more on this below) and scheduled an MRI.

After a pretty intense brain MRI, I was diagnosed with cortical blindness in my right eye.

Here are a list of random facts that apply to my subjective experience with cortical blindness and blindsight:

1. I have had it since birth.

It could be genetic or it could have been due to my mother's health when she was younger. My mother experienced extreme trauma and malnutrition as a child when she was in concentration camps for four years (this is way too long to go into here, maybe one day I will write about that story). It's been shown that malnutrition and trauma can lead to future issues with reproduction.

However, no one knows for sure what caused my cortical blindness and it will always be a mystery. I am ok with that.

2. I see the world with my left eye.

I use my left eye when I use a camera. It's what I look out of when I make art, look at people, work, and do 99% of the things I do.

I don't think about my right eye at all usually. Some situations that have forced me to think consciously about my right eye: -When I was in pre-med, microbiology lab was a big issue for me due to the binocular microscopes.

-Escalators used to make me extremely anxious since my depth of field is limited.

- 3D films give me headaches and make me nauseous because my brain tries to process the visual output with both eyes.

-I absolutely love road trips but cannot drive because of my cortical blindness.

3. I have Type 1 blindsight.

Blindsight is a peculiar thing to attempt to explain.In fact, I have never even tried to write about it before so bear with me if this doesn't make a lot of sense.

Here is the explanation of blindsight on Wikipedia : “Blindsight is the ability of people who are cortically blind due to lesions in their striate cortex, also known as primary visual cortex or V1, to respond to visual stimuli that they do not consciously see.

The majority of studies on blindsight are conducted on patients who have the conscious blindness on only one side of their visual field. Following the destruction of the striate cortex, patients are asked to detect, localize, and discriminate amongst visual stimuli that are presented to their blind side, often in a forced-response or guessing situation, even though they do not consciously recognize the visual stimulus.

Research shows that blind patients achieve a higher accuracy than would be expected from chance alone.Type 1 blindsight is the term given to this ability to guess—at levels significantly above chance—aspects of a visual stimulus (such as location or type of movement) without any conscious awareness of any stimuli.

Blindsight challenges the common belief that perceptions must enter consciousness to affect our behavior; showing that our behavior can be guided by sensory information of which we have no conscious awareness ''

I seem to be able to sense people by their movements even without seeing them. I can sense when routine patterns are off by even a tiny amount. This feeling is amplified on my right side. I used to say I felt like I had a version of spidey-sense. When I was officially diagnosed with blindsight, my spidey-sense made totally sense.

If I am close with or around people for a while, I don't even need to look at them with my eyes to see them because I know with pretty good accuracy what is happening around me even if (or especially if) it is happening in my right eye field of 'vision'.

If I am really into / crushing on someone and around them for any length of time my blindsight is even more intense when it comes to sensing their presence and movements. Blindsight can't be switched on or off. The intensity seems to differ depending on circumstance, surroundings, and even connection to people. It isn't ideal all the time since it just makes me feel hyper-aware of people and myself which then makes me retreat super awkwardly since I also have social anxiety. Fun :/

3. I call my right eye vision: colored glass world.

I don't always see or visit colored glass world. In fact, most of the time, there is no conscious awareness of colored glass world.

This is the closest image I could find to show what it kind of looks like (however, I can see shapes and light):

Unlike blindsight, I can absolutely go into colored glass world at will or I slip into colored glass world when these circumstances occur:

-When I am really tired or when I daydream I tend to slip into right eye vision because it feels soothing to escape into colored glass world.

-When I am super happy.

-When I play piano I get into a flow state and colored glass world meshes well with this state. I have played classical piano since I was 3 years old and used to specifically memorize long pieces of music just to play the music while in colored glass world.

4. That ear question the ophthalmologist asked me wasn't totally out of left field.

It's not so odd to have a dominant side when it comes to sight and hearing when cortical blindness occurs in one eye. I can hear out of my right ear but it's just slightly different in a way that I can't quite explain. my left ear. I am hyper-sensitive to sound.

I also tilt my head to the right when speaking with people as if I am presenting my good eye and ear. Once people know this about me, they can't unsee it.

5.The irony of the fact that I ended up in careers that rely entirely on my vision is not lost on me.

I am currently a photo director and producer at Vox Media for Curbed. I am also a photographer who does commissioned art for games, film, books, and other media and have had two photography books published.

My second book, NY in the Snow, was the culmination of seven years of going out into every major snowstorm in New York City to translate into art all the feelings of isolation, nostalgia, and loneliness I felt while surrounded by the vast snow-filled cityscapes.

I never wrote about my vision in the book. In fact, it only occurred to me when the book released in stores and I was actively promoting it, that my snow photography was the closest way I ever came to showing everyone else how my right eye vision meshes with my left eye vision.

I spent hours waiting for the right combination of people and cars to enter the stormy backdrops.

Did I ever slip into colored glass world while shooting and editing the images during that time period?

All the time.

6. I finally got glasses this weekend.

After I was diagnosed with cortical blindness, I was told that all the years of headaches were due to constantly putting a thick prescription in front of my right eye. It was forcing my brain to try to adjust to the prescription. and just led to misery.

However, years later, my left eye definitely has deteriorated a tiny bit.

Having insurance again meant a visit to a new eye doctor and glasses with a prescription only in the left lens to eliminate any headache issues.

Here are my new glasses yesterday (this image was taken for Instagram stories which flips images, this is clearly flipped).

It's nice to have glasses with no prescription in my right eye.

My right eye is just fine as is.

70 notes · View notes

erintoknow · 5 years

Text

evidence

fallen hero: rebirth fanfic, set right after Heartbreak ~1.8k words, staring everyone’s favorite Sergeant Steel. retribution alpha minor spoiler

content warning for a That Guy

------

Not quite civilian business, not quite Ranger business. Chen wasn’t really sure how to dress, wasn’t comfortable with this blending of lives. But if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, who would? Ortega was in no state of mind to pursue this. The odds of a dead end was too high. He couldn’t do that to his friend. Things were bad enough right now. Breath in, breath out. Straighten his collar. Ring the doorbell, knock on the door. Wait.

It had taken Chen more than a few beers and hours of reminiscing with Ortega. Surreptitiously going over what they remembered of old stories, writing down the details and cross-referencing everything against each other with a map of the city. Cross out options and narrow down the list. Maybe the fourth time would be the charm. Hopefully it would be worth it.

Someone shouted from the other side of the door, the sound of shuffling furniture. There was the sound of several locks being undone and then finally, the door cracked up, a single suspicious eye peering out. “Who is it?”

Chen clasped his hands behind his back. “Sergeant Steel, we talked on the phone briefly yesterday?”

The eye stares, boring in to him.

Chen stares back.

The eye blinks first. “Yes, yes, I remember now.” The door shuts, there’s a rattling of a chain, then opens again wider. “Com’on then, take a seat.” Defying expectations the owner of the eye is not a crone of an old woman but a man, maybe in his forties? Greying hair, wrinkles coming into their own on his face. If he dressed a little nicer, Chen might even class him as handsome. Untrimmed beard and beer-stained tank-top, however? Not so much.

“Thank you,” Chen says as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“Please, take a seat,” his host repeats, gesturing towards the wooden chairs arranged around a dining room table. His host pulls a chair away from the table edge before sliding into his own, a pile of books in poor condition scattered in front of him.

Chen raises a hand. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Alright then, suit yourself.” He shrugs, “I’m John Carpenter, nice to meet you in person, Mr…?” Chen eyes the man. Definitely a fake name.

“Sergeant Steel is fine.”

John frowns at that.

“You said the person I’m looking for might have been a tenant of yours?”

He nods, reaches to grab one of the books in front of him. This one looks like it’s seen some heavy water damage. “Yep, the name Becker sounded familiar, and you certainly don’t see too many German names in this part of town these days, mostly–” He stops himself, and looks at Chen uncomfortably. Chen allows him the courtesy of pretending not to notice.

“Anyway,” John flips through the book, stopping on one page to circle a name with a red pen. “Here we go.” The way John just rips the page out of the book and slides it over is enough to make Chen wince. “Moved in back in 2007, stayed about… oh, two years?”

Chen scans the page. Towards the bottom, the circled name ‘Chelsea D. Becker | April 13th, 2007 | Deposit and Rent: Paid’

Chelsea? A fake name? Even for Sidestep that seemed a little lazy. With some care, the fine motor control in his hand wasn’t the best, Chen pulls a photograph out of his unbuttoned front pocket, putting it down on the table. “Does this person look familiar?”

John leans over, squinting down at the small, crinkled picture. The only group picture Ortega had been able to corral Sidestep into taking without her suit on, dressed in a vest over a long-sleeved blouse and skirt with tights. It was supposed to stay on the fridge. Hopefully he’d find something out of this that would get Ortega to forgive him.

John purses his lips, pushes his tongue in his mouth from side to side and makes a clicking noise. “The one on the far right there,” Chen keeps a blank expression as John points a finger right on Sidestep’s face. “Reminds me of the kid Chelsea always had around, maybe a sister?”

That throws Chen for a loop. “Parent-Child?”

John shakes his head. “Don’t think so. This kid just showed up a not long after Chelsea did. Maybe right out of high school?” John clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Normally I’d charge extra for stuffing two people in studio apartment like that, but I think the kid had been homeless so I pretended I didn’t see nothing.”

Alright then. What was the connection between this ‘Chelsea Becker’ and Ariadne Becker?

“Can you tell me anything else about them?”

“‘friad not, I respect my tenants’ privacy.” John says with possibly the most lying-through-my-teeth look Chen has ever seen on a man’s face.

Chen waits him out.

Finally; “Okay, well. I think the woman might have been a drug dealer or something. Always weird hours. Always paid on full, never late–”

“That’s cause for suspicion?”

“Around here it is, yeah.” John waves a hand, dismissing the question. “Now that I think about it, you know how women are,” He shoots Chen a knowing look. “Maybe she was just keeping the boy around as a fu-“

“Excuse me,” Chen cuts him off, “Boy?”

“Yeah, boy. Kid was a boy.”

Chen frowns. Another dead end then after all.

John clicks his tongue. “Probably a fairy though,” He makes a face, completely oblivious to the fact that only years of self-discipline is saving him from having his nose broken. “Kept running around in girl clothes and shit. Hell, maybe that’s not a sister in your picture. Could just be him.”

Maybe not a dead end then? But that would mean… It would mean Chen has even more questions now than when he started this whole process.

“…when was the last time you saw the kid?” Chen asks, keeping his face blank.

“So, when Chelsea moved out, I offered to keep renting to him, but he couldn’t afford it. Felt bad though, so generous man that I am, I let him stay, off-the-books, until I got a new tenant to rent the room like, a month later? Never saw him again after that.”

“No idea where they might have went?”

John shakes his head. “Him? Nah, he just straight up vanished the day I gave him the heads up, didn’t even take anything with him.”

Chen sighs, frustration mounting. Why was trying to dig into anything about Sidestep like digging in sand? “What about the… the woman, Chelsea, any idea where she went?”

John shrugs, “Left the city, I think?” An idea occurs to him and and he leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. “You think she was on the run from the law? You Rangers tracking down a cold-case?”

“Something like that.” Chen pinches his nose. “I can’t discuss the details of an investigation in progress.” That was… technically true.

John clicks his tongue, grins. “Say no more Sarge,” he winks. “Say, you know what? Maybe you want to take a look at the stuff he left behind, maybe something’ll help out the case?”

Chen raises an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe you held on to a tenant’s property for half a decade.”

John waves him off and gets up the table, trundling into a back room. “I am a collector Sarge.” He says the word with an uncomfortable level of relish.

A few minutes of rummaging later and John is back with a small plastic bin. He drops it on the table in front of Chen. “Few pictures, a journal. Think there were some tapes and records too, but I kept those for me.” He looks at Chen, “Always figured I could sell it back to the kid if he came around again. Never did though.”

Chen has to will his hand to keep steady as he picks through the few items in the bin. Pull out one photo, a young blonde-haired woman standing next to an even younger looking androgynous teenager with short reddish-brown hair, and green eyes. Chen lays the the picture down next to the earlier photo he had brought with him. It feels like he’s looking at something he shouldn’t be – there’s an itching in the back of his skull. But the similarities are too close to be ignored, right down to the way the uncomfortable smile breaks across the face.

“I’ll need to hold on to these for evidence.”

John opens his arms wide, “Be my guest, always happy to be of service to the law.” John winks again, “Provided of course, the law remembers me favorably in return.”

Chen frowns, “I’ll make a note of it.” He says, with no such intention to do so. He reaches back into the bin, pulls out the journal. No indication on the cover who owned it. Just a plain black moleskin bound book, held shut with a cloth strap. Slip it open with a careful slide of the thumb, start with the first page.

chelsea thinks keeping a journal will help that I can write out the nightmares as if that’ll like get them outside of me?

she doesn’t understand why I can’t do that I can’t explain it to her either I mean

last night wasn’t even that bad, since i started saving people things feel better

i’m in control again it’s fun actually? just hang around with a police scanner and be ready to run across town tucking sucks like super shit though

i don’t trust the rangers charge seems real full of herself thinks she’s so hot with her perfect smile and the way she stands with her hips cocked and

wow that’s embarrassing

you know what forget this this is dumb sorry chelsea

Chen flips through the rest of the book, all the other pages are blank. Another dead end. Nothing to suggest what might have happened to Sidestep now. Nothing to hint at what was up with the ambulance Chen knows carted Sidestep away in direct contradiction to the official report. Where had Ariadne lived between this and now? Where did she go when she wasn’t at a crime scene or following Ortega like a lost cat? Who did she associate with outside of the Rangers?

Maybe they could put the journal in the ceremonial casket, it’d be better than nothing. But how to explain finding it to Ortega without giving away the investigation? And there was the matter of... Maybe it was best to keep the journal to himself after all. This was one secret that didn’t need to be exposed.

Chen puts the journal back in the bin and adds both the pictures and the torn record book page. Might as well hold on to it. Hopefully his government contact would get back to him soon with something, anything, about the where he’d seen that ambulance go. This had been his best shot at nailing down a residence and it ends up being years old. The only other lead left was this ‘Chelsea’ woman, and given his luck so far, it was hard to be optimistic about the odds.

Ariadne Becker, woman of mystery and thorn in his side, couldn’t even have the courtesy to have a non-mysterious death. This one was going to eat at him.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero #fallen hero fanfic #fanfiction #fhr/Ariadne #tw: transphobia #tw: homophobia #mc #Wei Chen #RENT CONTROL NOW #investigation time go #trans character

31 notes · View notes

originaljediinjeans · 5 years

Text

Tony Stark is not a fan of BuckyNat. Not at the first.

A few months after [insert crude summary of whatever goes down in Endgame here], Romanoff and Barnes begin dating.

(Apparently this isn’t the first time. Before Thanos came around, when they had been in hiding in Arizona, they had been dating then, too. The knowledge is infuriating. Tony had let Rogers take the rebel Avengers into hiding, but he hadn’t let them go behind his back for that.)

Bad enough that Barnes has become Captain America now. That Steve (or someone else) convinced Tony to give him the shield.

In spite of everything he has been through, in spite of whatever healing has come since that dark day in Siberia, Tony Stark has yet to completely forgive the man who killed his parents.

Tony and Pepper finally throw their wedding. All of their Stark Industries, superhuman and secret agent friends from over the years, including a few new ones from outer space, plus a lot who came back from the Snap, are present. Barnes and Romanoff arrive for the ceremony holding hands.

Barnes cut his hair after becoming Captain America, and he’s wearing a crisp gray suit and a glove on his left hand. He doesn’t look like the Winter Soldier. Natasha is wearing her hair up and curled, she has on a short dark purple dress covered with a black gauze. They look like a perfectly normal couple. But they look happy to be together. He sees Steve Rogers greeting them both with hugs.

Tony is perfectly fine to have Steve at his wedding--he’s beyond grateful that Rogers showed up at all.

Tony sees Barnes and Romanoff and his stomach instantly does a flip. He turns away and ignores them. He focuses on Pepper during the ceremony. At the reception the receiving line goes for three hours. Barnes and Romanoff come through during the first half hour, thank goodness. Pepper is thrilled to see Nat, as always, and she comments that Natasha looks wonderful, she looks so happy. Nat thanks her and quickly brushes her comments aside. Tony hastily shakes hands with Barnes and hugs Natasha. He tries to look at only her, but it’s impossible to not see her holding hands with her boyfriend. Barnes nods at Tony cordially. He congratulates Pepper warmly. Pepper is very friendly to him. I thought you knew who this guy was, Pepper, Tony is thinking internally. I thought I told you.

But the next guests in line move forward and he forgets about them for now.

Tony makes it a point to get completely soused during the celebration. Pepper in her ecstasy also gets drunk. He does spot Barnes and Romanoff dancing--dancing very closely--at one point but he is carefully to turn away. He sees some of the other Avengers and superheroes chatting with Barnes like he’s an old friend--he is to some of them. He doesn’t notice him leaving later with Natasha.

The party goes from dusk until dawn. Rhodey, Banner, and Happy are with Tony and Pepper until the very end. Tony and Pepper stay in bed all day to sleep off the alcohol. Two days later they go on their honeymoon to the Bahamas.

A month after the honeymoon, everything is going fine for Tony when he hears an announcement on the Avengers social media feed: Barnes and Romanoff are engaged.

Tony springs into action and calls Natasha. He asks her why and she tells him about why she and James are so in love. He calmly states his objections. She tells Tony that she understands his concerns but that he needs to get over himself. I thought you were over it, Tony, she tells him. Even two poor assassins are entitled to some happiness. Have you considered that? And she hangs up.

Pepper brings up Natasha’s engagement later, and then Tony tells Pepper that he doesn’t like the fact that Nat is getting married to Barnes. Pepper hears him out, but she’s disgusted that he objects to what she calls “the best thing that’s ever happened for either of them.”

Tony does his best to not descend to any level of toxic, seething hatred. He avoids the Avengers on socials altogether for a little while--all of their congratulatory posts and Nat’s updates on the wedding planning makes him sick. A part of him knows it’s jealousy--he just got married to his own true love, why is he so angry at Nat for doing the same? It’s hard to dismiss his resentment for Barnes.

Pepper gets an invite to the wedding and she puts it on her vanity. He moves it behind a jewelry box. Pepper doesn’t move it back. She knows better than to ask Tony about it. Tony is too unhappy to bring it up to her.

He schemes. He plots about how to get Barnes and Romanoff to break up, or find a way to sabotage the wedding. But he never acts on those impulses because he knows doing so is just wrong, and the other Avengers and Pepper would chew him out if he went through with it.

He pays a visit to the counselor he has been seeing intermittently since Siberia. One visit turns into three. His brain is a tangled knot of frustration. Pepper can soothe him, but only temporarily. He looks up photos of his parents. He finds pictures of his father with Captain America and Barnes and the Howling Commandos from the war. He sees photos of his parents’ own wedding, the dancing and the revelries and snapshots from the honeymoon. He goes through albums of his parents’ years together, sees photos of the life that was stolen from them.

Then Tony and Pepper get the photos back from their wedding. Tony goes through them by himself, and he has FRIDAY project them. He swipes through them one by one, some more quickly than others. He’s impressed that he turned out looking happy. And of course Pepper looks more beautiful than ever in her wedding dress.

And then he stops. There is a photo of Barnes and Romanoff dancing. They are looking deeply into each other’s eyes while their arms are wrapped around each other. Tony doesn’t remember a time when he ever saw Natasha so happy.

Even two poor assassins are entitled to some happiness.

Tony can literally feel his heart melting. Maybe there’s a part of him that will never forgive--but for this, he can let go.

He sends Romanoff a text: Do you and Barnes have any plans for the honeymoon yet? Natasha asks him why he’s wondering about that. She ends up calling him. Tony says he’s willing to pay for their entire honeymoon. Anywhere they want to go. Natasha tries to argue with him, he doesn’t need to pay for anything for them, they can afford a decent trip, besides I thought you didn’t like us together anyway.

He tells her: Natasha, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I’m going to be happy for you two. And I’m sorry I was a jerk about it in the first place. There is silence on the other end of the phone. You still there? Natasha regains her composure. Tony, there are better ways to tell people you’re sorry--Please, just let me. I’ll talk to James about it. All right, then, send him my regards.

Natasha and Bucky end up accepting Tony’s offer. He buys them a very expensive vacation package--one that costs only half and much as his and Pepper’s honeymoon: a trip to Greece, Turkey and the Eastern Mediterrenan islands. The bride and groom are beyond grateful.

The little backyard ceremony and reception has to be the smallest, least expensive wedding that Tony has ever been to. The honeymoon he bought them, in fact, costs more than the photographer, the dress, the suits, the decorations, the catering service, and the lights put together. He enters wearing sunglasses, but they fail to protect him from drawing attention. The other guests recognize the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Avenger but he tells them to keep their distance until after the ceremony. Steve shakes his hand and hugs him and thanks him for coming. After the ceremony ends, the bride and groom turn to face their assembled guests. Tony gives them a small smile. Pepper is openly weeping.

Afterward, Bucky and Nat come up to thank Tony and Pepper for coming. Bucky briefly, awkwardly hugs Tony. The photographer gets a photo of the four of them. The rest of the night, Tony takes photos with the guests who happen to be his fans. He and Pepper join in the dancing and eat the food and the cake. They stay to say farewell to the newlyweds. And Bucky and Natasha have the best honeymoon they could have asked for.

#pepperony wedding #au where everyone lives #post-endgame #buckynat #tony stark #natasha romanoff #Bucky Barnes #forgiveness #pepper potts #buckynat wedding #otp wedding #long post #happy ending au #please I need this #I need Tony to survive endgame and live to forgive Steve and Bucky

26 notes · View notes

stubblesandwich · 6 years

Text

The One You Feed

A werewolf AU for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer ( @cssns). Part one of two. Summary: Emma Swan is an underpaid, overworked waitress at a small-town Denny’s. Once a month, a curious customer pays her a visit. In fact, he’s so strange, he’s warranted a special nickname from her friend Ruby--Cute Creepy Guy. He always orders a mountain of cheap breakfast food and eats it like it’s his last night on earth. Oh yeah, and apparently he’s a werewolf. 7,500 words. Name stolen with love from a podcast, which is based on this old poem. Story idea based on this amazing “prompt”. Artwork by the fantastic @spartanguard! See the full manip here. It’s GREAT.

Find it on A03 here.

Rated PG for perilous moments and uses of a crude three-letter word for someone’s tushy.

(for those on mobile, there is a “read more”, I swear!) -------- There was something about rain that made too many people in Massachusetts want pancakes at the same time.

When the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, good old-fashioned comfort food seemed to be on too many minds at once. The Denny's where Emma Swan worked always seemed to be a little fuller when the weather was crappy.

Today was an exception.

She didn't mind when it was busy. After all, full booths meant more tips, and more tips meant she got to pay her rent on time. It was the slow days, like today, that sucked; the breakfast joint turned into a black hole where time stood still and all happiness went to die. She made peanuts with her hourly wage, so when the patrons were few and far between, it was hardly even worth her time to be there.

Emma was a hard worker, always finding something to busy herself with. Idling about only made time move slower, she'd learned. Besides, someone was paying her to be there (even if it was hardly any money), so she might as well be working. It was a huge pet peeve of hers to see some of the other waitresses and cooks on their phones when there was a lull in the day.

(But, it was easy to criticize. Emma couldn't afford a smart phone.)

Not all of her co-workers were bad. She'd made a friend, working there—a fellow waitress named Ruby.

The time was 8:00 p.m. on a Thursday. Unsurprisingly, not many people were craving breakfast food (or anything else Denny's served) that late on a week night, and the restaurant was about as slow as it ever got. Emma had paused in front of the little television behind the register, in a rare daze as she stared at the local news flitting across its tiny screen with zombie eyes. Ruby's sharp voice yanked her out of it.

"Earth to Emma!"

She glanced over at her friend sheepishly. "Sorry," she said, "Were you talking to me?"

Ruby gave a little scoff and a roll of her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind either. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a smile. "Uh, yeah!" she said. "It's your turn to wait on Cute Creepy Guy." She gestured over her shoulder, jabbing in the direction of the back corner of the restaurant with her pen.

Emma's gut dropped.

She glanced up at the customer in question, who was frowning down at the menu. Like he couldn't decide what he wanted to order--or like he had heard Ruby's comment about him.

Both options seemed impossible. He was way too far away to hear either of them talking, for one. Secondly, Cute Creepy Guy always knew what he wanted. He came in regularly enough—about once per month since the start of the year—to warrant a special nickname, and he always ordered the same thing. Essentially it was the Lumberjack Slam, a popular Denny's feature for men with something to prove, only modified. A lot.

Said slam featured the following: two hearty buttermilk pancakes, a slice of grilled ham, two strips of bacon, two sausage links, two eggs, hash browns and two slices of toast.

It was an obscene amount of food. Emma had never seen anyone finish it without sharing. That was, of course, until Cute Creepy Guy started frequenting their establishment.

Cute Creepy Guy always, without fail, doubled the portions of meat—sometimes tripled them. Occasionally, he would sub out the pancakes for a Belgian waffle. It was an enormous, seemingly insurmountable amount of food. And he finished it. Every time.

In fact, he often ordered more, after finishing the slam. He took his coffee black; sometimes he'd opt for tea—also black.

Emma had realized long ago that it was probably weird she knew his order so well. But, it was easy to see the pattern when he got the same thing every time. The guy knew what he liked. Besides, she told herself, Ruby likely knew what he ordered, too. The only reason either of them bothered to go up and take his order from him anymore, as opposed to just bringing his food directly out to him when he sat down, was the fact that they didn't know his hot beverage choice of the day or how much extra meat he wanted.

Cute Creepy Guy was in his usual spot, in the most remote corner of the restaurant, alone. He always came alone. He had the same worn out, haggard look he usually did. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, which only made his eyes seem all the more blue. His dark hair was tousled, as if he'd had his head out the window like a dog on the drive over, but he wore it well. And, as always, he sported the same well-loved, over-sized leather jacket he wore every time he came in.

His hands were resting on the table in front of him. Well, his hand was--the other was a prosthetic, as Emma had come to learn fairly quickly.

(Ruby had never noticed this until Emma had pointed it out to her. "What?!" she'd said when Emma mentioned it to her offhandedly the first time. She'd had to grab her friend's shoulder and pull her back as Ruby spun around to blatantly stare at the back corner where he'd been sitting. "No way! He's missing a hand? How did I never notice that?" Emma had no answer to that.)

Ruby was watching her now, as Emma looked at the customer in question. Ruby donned a wolfish smile that made Emma prickle for some reason, like she knew something Emma didn't and was lording it over her.

"I can't wait on him today, Ruby," Emma started firmly. "Regina has me re-organizing the condiments shelf for the next hour and she really wants it done ASAP for some reason. Besides, he's in your section."

Ruby huffed. "Yes, but sections do not apply to Cute Creepy Guy," she said. "You know this. He's weird, so we take turns. Today, my friend," she said, as she jabbed her pen at her, "Is your turn."

Emma just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't know why you're so put out by him," she said. "He's not that bad. Just... odd. Besides, he tips really well."

"He tips okay," Ruby said with a shrug. "The same as everyone else here, on average. Which means he doesn't tip all that much, since the food here's so cheap."

Emma paused at that. Cute Creepy Guy had always tipped her exceptionally well, usually at least double the percentage he was socially obligated to. But, apparently this wasn't standard; it seemed to only apply to her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Fine," she said, "I'll do it. But you'd better start on those condiments for me."

"Deal," Ruby said, shooting her a wolfish grin.

Emma plastered on her fake customer service smile. Ruby saw right through it and bumped her playfully on the shoulder as she passed.

Emma didn't even bother taking out her order pad as she approached his table. Without raising his head, he perked up noticeably as she approached--almost like he could sense her coming.

His whole demeanor changed. His shoulders, tense and hunched up close to his neck, slackened and relaxed. His back straightened, righting his terrible, slumping posture.

And she could have sworn the tips of his ears tinged pink.

He looked up as she stopped at his table, beaming at her.

"Swan," he said, his voice deep and as smooth as velvet. “I was hoping it'd be you.”

Her stomach did a little flip each time he said her name. Not for the obvious reasons--they called him Cute Creepy Guy for a reason, after all, and his English accent was far from off putting--but because she had never actually told him her full name.

The plastic tag on her chest read "Emma", her first name, just as every other server in every other restaurant's read their first name, too. But Cute Creepy Guy had taken it upon himself to give her a moniker, after he had aptly noticed the swan pendant she wore around her neck every day. He had noticed it, complimented it, and turned it into an affectionate nickname.

A nickname that happened to be her real-life surname. But there was no way--outside the very possible realm of stalking, cyber or otherwise--he could have known that. At least, that's what she told herself.

Because Cute Creepy Guy wasn't actually all that creepy. Not to her, anyway. Sure, she understood why Ruby found him to be a little repelling. He was definitely strange. But, Emma had never been scared off by strange. She dealt with weirdos everyday in the serving industry. There was no shortage of creeps trying to peer down the front of her polo shirt as she leaned in to refill their coffee, or checking out Ruby's long legs when she wore shorts in the summer. But this guy wasn't like that. He kept his eyes where they belonged, never straying below Emma's neck--or more accurately, where her necklace ended. She could always feel him watching her when she walked away from his table, but she didn't mind that so much. (At the risk of sounding cocky, she was fairly accustomed to people checking her out.) With Cute Creepy Guy, she never seemed to mind. He was different. It took Emma a few seconds to realize she was staring at him, blatantly admiring his stubble--a little thicker and darker than it was the last time he'd been in--around his jaw instead of answering him.

"Jones," she said. He smiled one brief, impossibly wide smile. A quick flash of white in a Cheshire Cat grin and it was gone, concealed as he ducked his head in a mock bow. But she would swear later his eyeteeth looked impossibly sharp.

“At your service, lass,” he said, dipping his head forward in a mock bow.

“Actually, I think it's me who's at your service today, buddy,” she said, but she smiled in spite of herself. “What can I get you? The usual?”

He nodded. “Earl Grey today, though.”

“You got it.”

Her sneakers squeaked faintly as she pivoted on her heels and turned back toward the front register. “Swan?” Emma paused, looking back toward him. “Yeah?”

“Extra sausage this time, if you would be so kind,” he said. He smiled brightly at her, and she would have thought him altogether innocent, if not for the look in his eyes, in which there was nothing innocent at all.

There was a dirty joke about sausage right on the tip of her tongue, but an older gentleman in the booth next to where she had paused was staring at her. So instead, she just gave a quick, awkward nod and walked away.

She'd redeem herself when his order was up.

First came the tea. Not many people at Denny's ordered tea. Hipsters now and then would, trying to prove they were cooler than coffee—or at least coffee from a place like Denny's. In all honesty, Emma didn't really know how to make tea very well; the different steep times had always intimidated her. She always left the little bag in too long, making it way too strong and bitter.

But, it was embarrassing to admit in front of an actual Englishman that she didn't know how to properly brew tea. To remedy this, she usually just brought him a cup of hot water with a packaged bag of tea on the side, nestled in beside the cup on a saucer. And bless his soul—he never said a word about it, apart from sharing his thanks.

Jones typically opened said tea package with his teeth, presumably the easiest way to open a tea bag when one only had one hand.

And maybe this was wrong, but the first time Emma saw him do it, she thought it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen.

He gave her an appreciative smile when she brought him his saucer and hot water. “Thanks, love.”

She nodded. “No problem.”

He pulled the tea bag out from beside his cup and brought it to his mouth, ripping it open easily with his teeth.

She was staring at him again—biting her lip, no less—and she was suddenly so embarrassed she could have darted outside and straight into traffic. Emma Swan didn't do things like this. She wasn't like this over guys, especially guys she hardly knew.

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she was just about to turn and head back for the kitchen area when he spoke up again.

“So, Swan. How's your day going, love?”

If he had noticed her staring, he was blessedly ignoring it. She could have melted into the tile floor in relief.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “Another day, another dollar.”

He smiled up at her before he turned his attention to his tea cup. She watched as he looped the tea bag string around his index finger and bobbed the bag up and down a few times as it steeped in his cup, dancing like a marionette. “Is your shift just about over?” he asked.

“Actually,” she said, the word coming out through a sigh, “It's just getting started. I'm here past midnight.”

She wasn't sure why she'd told him that, exactly. Emma never, as a general rule, gave anything even resembling personal information to a customer, to include what time she was getting off work. It usually led to conversations she didn't want to have.

But instead of hitting on her, Jones just offered up a sympathetic look. “Sorry, love.”

She shrugged. “I need the money. Hey, most of my section is on the other side of the restaurant today. So if you don't see me, I promise I'm not ignoring you.”

The wolfish grin reappeared on his face. “I would despair if you did.”

She couldn't help the smile that broached her face, though she tried to hide it. Somehow, he was the only person she'd ever met who was able to make such cheesy, melodramatic lines seem sexy. It was impressive, really.

“Yeah,” she said, as a little smile still played across her lips, “Whatever you say, Romeo. I'll be back in a minute.”

It took about twenty minutes, actually. A few more families came in, occupying the tables in her section across the restaurant. She was glad, because this meant more tips and thus more money for her, but it made things a bit awkward with Jones. She was just far enough away that she couldn't see his table to check on him.

What was even more awkward was that he was in Ruby's section, and Ruby came through to check on and refill the coffee mugs of everyone but him. Thankfully it wasn't entirely obvious that she was avoiding him, as his booth was in the far corner and the tables nearest to him were empty. He was a lone wolf, as it were. But still. It was odd for Emma to have the majority of her section on the opposite end of the restaurant with a single table as far away as it could possibly be.

Ten minutes ago, the restaurant had been dull, quiet enough so that she could actually hear the faint, terrible country music playing on the building's outdated speaker system. Now, the place was abuzz with conversations being shared across tables. Everyone in the big group that had come in obviously knew each other; all the kids were wearing matching uniforms, clearly all members of the same local baseball team.

Emma was a good waitress. She was friendly, smiled, and was genuinely good at her job. She asked the kids if they'd won their game—they did—and charmed their parents with a bright smile that wasn't too bubbly or flirty. A few more families came in, obviously from the same team and coming to celebrate the big win against their school's arch nemesis. Her order pad filled and she made lots of promises of ice cream she hoped she could keep—the soft serve machine had been on the fritz earlier—and before she knew it, twenty minutes had flown by.

Cute Creepy Guy's order was definitely up. By the time she made it over to the half wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant, where all orders were handed off to and from the cooks, she could see his table; he already had his food, and he looked about halfway finished eating it.

Emma cursed under her breath. She passed off her small mountain of orders to David, Emma's roommate and the restaurant's head chef—or as close to a “head chef” as a Denny's can have—and booked it over to Jones' table. He had a mouthful of something when he looked up at her, his cheeks adorably full.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a rush, even as he waved her apology away with his prosthetic hand. “Really, though. I got caught up with this big group of little league players and--” “Swan,” he interrupted graciously, “It's quite all right. Truly. Ruby brought it out for me not five minutes ago. You're fine, love.”

Relief washed over her. She always hated leaving a customer unattended for too long. It didn't usually bode well for her tip. She knew she'd hear an earful about it from Ruby later, but she didn't care. She was just glad he wasn't upset with her. She let out a breath and gave him a small, appreciative smile. “Okay. Thanks, Jones.”

He returned her smile, but this one didn't quite touch his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she spoke first when she noticed the plate in front of him.

“Holy crap,” she said, “How are you halfway finished with all that? You said Ruby just brought it to you.”

He looked down at his plate uncomfortably, bravado deflated.

“You must've been hungry like the wolf,” she offered, smiling at him.

He barked out a laugh that was so loud she nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?” she asked, but he just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, but his grin belied him. “I'm just going to have that bloody song stuck in my head for the rest of the night.” “Not a Duran Duran fan, are you?” she teased.

“No,” he said flatly, but his eyes still danced. “Can't say that I am.”

She offered him more tea, which he accepted, and she tried to bring it back to him in a timely manner to make up for her utter lack of service before. Over the next hour, Emma was fairly busy. Between checking periodically on Jones and completing the seemingly countless needs of her other tables (the ice cream machine was working, after all, and she had to carry the cones out two by two for a plethora of hungry young baseball players), she was swamped and her shift was finally flying by.

Before she knew it, it was past ten o'clock and she just had a couple hours left on her shift.

Ruby was heading out just as Emma was making her way back to the front register to ring up the final bill from her cluster of tables. “Bye, babe,” Ruby said, shooting her friend a wink. “Hope you made the big bucks today.”

Emma gave a sarcastic huff of a laugh in response. Ruby went on, “Oh, I bussed Cute Creepy Guy's table for you, so don't worry about it.”

Something dropped in Emma's stomach. “Yeah?” she asked. “He left?”

That knowing look was back on Ruby's face. It made Emma so uncomfortable that she had to avert her eyes, suddenly finding the little television above the register very interesting again.

“No,” Ruby said, keeping her voice curiously neutral and devoid of any inflection. “He's still sitting at his table.” This got Emma's attention again and she looked back to her friend. “I'm pretty sure he's waiting for you.”

He was, in fact, waiting for Emma. Still nursing the same mug of tea, which had to be cold by now, he sat in his booth, looking down intently at a book he had laid out across his table. This time, he didn't look up when she approached.

“If you look at that thing any harder, I think you're going to set it on fire,” she said. Jones nearly leaped out of his skin. It was so uncharacteristic that she couldn't help but laugh outright at him. He looked up, his usually wolfish smile looking sheepish instead.

“Swan,” he said. “There you are. I thought you might have gone home early.”

“I wish,” she said. “That would be amazing. I'm scheduled for a morning shift tomorrow, too, so I'd love to go home and sleep. But someone screwed up the schedule, so I'll be here bright eyed and bushy tailed.” She gave a jaunty little swoop with her fist and forearm joined by a sarcastic smile, to which he responded with a wince.

“That's bollocks.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Nothing I can do about it now. Anyway, it's time for my dinner break, so I need to go scrounge up something to eat. Just wanted to make sure you were still good back here.”

“I've a free spot right here, if you'd like some company,” he said, gesturing to the empty booth seat across his table with his prosthetic.

Emma hesitated. She had never spent so much time talking to one customer before, let alone sat down to share a meal with one. It should have been weird, but she found that strangely, it wasn't at all. She liked Jones. Sure, he flirted with her recklessly every time she saw him, but she never took it too seriously. He had made it more than clear he was into her, but he never pushed her. Just flirted with her playfully to make his interest clear.

“I promise I won't bite,” he said, his eyebrows wagging at her. “Not today, anyway. Not unless you want me to.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said, “Fine. Let me go put in an order for myself and I'll be right back.”

“I assure you, Swan,” he said, still grinning at her, “You'll find nothing but pleasure in my company.”

She shook her head as she walked away, thinking for the second time that night that no one on earth could get away with lines like that except him.

She returned with a fresh mug of tea for him, which he seemed pleasantly surprised by, and a burger accompanied by a hot pile of onion rings for herself. Jones's eyes went a little dark as he stared down at her plate, and she heard him take in a deep breath through his nose, clearly smelling her food.

“Okay, weirdo,” she said, as she shifted in her booth seat and made herself comfortable. “You can have some, if you want. I get free food here when David's on the fryer.”

“David?”

Emma made a noise around the giant bite of burger she'd just taken. “Heev my fend in bah.”

Jones just stared at her. Emma swallowed and tried again. “Sorry. He's my friend in back.”

“Ah,” Jones said, a little strangely as he looked down at his steeping tea. “I see.”

“He's married,” she said. She wasn't quite sure why she felt the need to tell him this, but Jones looked up at her brightly, and Emma gave him a soft smile. “His fiancee comes in here all the time to visit him. They're my roommates, actually. She's really nice, teaches elementary at the school near by. She probably teaches that horde of kids who came in here. And then David's the night shift cook here. I think she comes in when misses him while he's working.” “That's sweet,” Jones said, as he brought his mug to his lips. Emma watched him for a beat.

“They're really sweet,” she finally said. “Too sweet, actually. Kind of makes you sick.”

He laughed, which made her laugh. “Has there been no great love in your life, Swan?”

Without even thinking, she reached up and grasped the swan pendant around her neck. He watched her, and she dropped her eyes to her lap.

“No,” she finally said, “I have never been in love.”

“Pity,” he said. He had lowered his voice both in timbre and volume, and she noticed suddenly he was much closer, leaning in over the table as he reached out to put his hand over hers.

His palm was hot, and after a few seconds, she jerked her hand away in surprise. He pulled his hand back, too, and stuffed it awkwardly into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Sorry,” he murmured apologetically, but Emma shook her head.

“No, it's just... your hand,” she started. “It's so hot. Are you feeling all right?”

Once she'd asked the question aloud, she noticed that he didn't look the same as he had when she had first waited on him hours ago. He didn't look well at all. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, looking especially dark compared to his skin, which she was now noticing looked pale, ashen.

“I'm fine,” he said, offering a smile she saw right through.

“You don't look fine,” she said pointedly.

He helped himself to an onion ring. She gaped at him, marveling at how he still had room in his stomach for food after everything he'd eaten. “You can't still be hungry,” she said in disbelief, staring at him openly.

He just shrugged in response, concealing a sly grin as he brought another onion ring to his mouth.

“You're something else, Jones.”

“You know,” he said around a mouthful, “I do have a first name.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Something with a 'K', right? I only know your last name from your debit card, when you pay your bill.”

He chuckled. “Yes. Killian.”

“Killian,” she said, trying it out. She liked it. It was unique. She'd never met a Killian before. It was strange, referring to him by an actual first name instead of what she and Ruby usually called him. Thinking of Ruby's nickname for him made her smile, and he canted his head just slightly to one side in questioning, but she decided to keep his less-than-affectionate epithet to herself.

“I dunno,” she went on playfully, “I think it's best if I still think of you as a nameless patron of Denny's. Can't be caught fraternizing with customers and all that.” That signature grin was back on his face. “What if said customer were dashingly handsome?”

She shook her head in dismissal, but still smiled at him as she took another bite of her burger.

The rest of her break passed in easy conversation. He expertly danced around any question pertaining to himself, only giving vague answers that weren't really answers at all, always managing to turn the question back on her.

Most of the time, she didn't fall for it. But Emma found Killian Jones strangely easy to talk to. She told him about her roommates, how they were getting married in the winter, how she'd been asked to be a bridesmaid but was pretty sure they were only asking her because they felt bad for her or because they needed one more person to make the bridal party even. Killian had scoffed openly at that, dismissing it entirely.

“You're mad,” he said. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as part of their wedding. I'm sure you're a wonderful friend, Emma.”

She looked up at him, struck by his use of her first name instead of his usual, affectionate nickname for her—the one that happened to be her actual last name. She missed it.

He returned her gaze, clearly confident in his words. And for awhile, they just looked at each other, until Emma's curiosity fell to shyness and she dropped her gaze.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and reached over for her phone to check the time. “Crap,” she muttered, “I'm over on my break. I gotta get back.”

Killian looked around the restaurant pointedly, as if to say, “Clearly it's so busy in here,” but Emma shook her head as she started to scoot across the booth seat to stand up.

“They use time punches here,” she explained. “My boss has been a real stickler for break times not being over lately.”

“Ah,” Killian said, “I see. Well, in that case, Swan, it was lovely sharing dinner with you.”

“You stealing a few of my onion rings hardly constitutes dinner,” Emma retorted. “Agree to disagree,” he said with a smirk. “Next time, I shall remember to bring the champagne.”

“For?”

“Our second date, of course.”

He was joking. He had to be. The gleam in his eyes gave as much away, but something in his tone was serious. She could just tell, easily, that if she took his invitation and actually said yes to a date with him, he'd be ecstatic.

Suddenly, it was all too much. He seemed to notice, and his entire demeanor shifted as the smile dropped from his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Emma was already gone, tossing a quick “Catch you later,” over her shoulder as she turned on her heels and made a bee line for the kitchen area.

She would feel bad, later, after hiding in the kitchen area like a coward for nearly fifteen minutes. Regina would chew her out for not punching back in after her break, going on and on about how she would have to go back in and manually adjust her break time, even though David vouched for Emma, saying he saw her come back from her dinner break on time.

When Emma finally came back out onto the floor, Jones was gone. His table was empty, completely bussed and wiped down, as if he had never been there at all.

The restaurant suddenly seemed terribly lonely. +++ Whoever's idea it was to make Denny's an open-24/7 establishment deserved to be shot. Not killed, necessarily, but maimed. Definitely maimed.

At least, that's how Emma felt as her third night shift in a row was coming to an end at nearly two in the morning. Naturally, five minutes before her shift was supposed to end, a group of teenagers had sat down in her section, taken forever to order a few cheap appetizers, and then left no tip at all. On top of that, Regina had goofed up the schedule and Emma was due to be back--peppy, uniformed, and ready to take orders--at 7:00 a.m. sharp.

It was too late to do anything about it now. No one had noticed the schedule glitch until it was too late, and Denny's, like most entry-level serving jobs, went by a find-your-own-replacement policy when it came to trading shifts. No one in their right mind was going to take an early shift off her hands on short notice.

The back door had a tendency to stick. As Emma gave it an extra hardy shove in anticipation of a fight with the door, it whipped out, jerking her forward, and slammed against the outside wall of the building. Emma swore, pausing for a second to regain her composure before she started toward her car.

The sky was ink black. There was no wind, the night as silent as it was dark, but there was a noticeable nip to the air and Emma pulled her red leather jacket a little tighter anyway, hugging her middle with her forearms. Her purse thumped against her thighs with each step.

She had parked at the far end of the parking lot behind the building. The best spots were reserved for customers, after all, so Emma's faithful yellow bug sat parked next to the dumpster.

The lot was poorly lit, the closest street lamp casting its light only just to the back of her car. She didn't usually make a habit of parking in the darkest, eeriest corner of the lot, but it had been fairly busy when she'd first started her shift. The employee parking lot was nearly to capacity; any better spots had been ruined by a handful of idiots who didn't know how to park inside the lines.

And that's how Emma found herself, on a cold, dark night, almost getting mugged.

She didn't see the man until she was nearly to her car; most of him was hidden by the position of the dumpster.

The moon, full and swollen in the sky, did more for her vision than the street lamp. It at least let her see the glint of metal in his hand as he stepped out and toward her. A knife, if she was lucky. A gun if she wasn't.

“What the hell,” she said, the words shooting out of her mouth in a startled jumble. Reflexively, she reached for her purse. Her fingers fumbled, but she had what she wanted in seconds: a travel-size canister of pepper spray. Her fears weren't misplaced. The man darted out from behind the dumpster and started coming at her, fast—too fast to have honorable intentions.

What came next happened so fast, she could barely process it.

A sound tore through the air then, so loud it seemed to grab her by the bones and shake her.

She whipped around and was met with a set of teeth.

Enormous, gleaming white teeth. They were attached to an even larger snout, black enough to blend in with the night, directly behind which sat a pair of wide, seemingly iridescent blue eyes.

Emma did what any self-respecting woman standing in the cold dark holding a canister of pepper spray in front of a monster would do: she screamed, threw up her arm, and sprayed the hell out of it.

This was, she was instantly certain, the worst decision of her life.

It let out a deep, piercing bellow of rage and pain. She could see the moonlight reflect off its white teeth, felt its hot breath on her face as it roared at her.

The man behind her stood gaping like an idiot, petrified. When the creature cried out, he let out a shriek of fear and took off across the parking lot, leaving Emma to fend for herself.

Which, of course, she was relatively capable of. She immediately took a step back, just in time as the creature lurched forward at her. It bent down low, pawing wildly at its eyes as its cries turned to pain-filled yelps. It sounded like an injured dog more than a monster. And really, as it pushed forward into the light from the street lamp, it looked like a dog. An insanely huge, nearly horse-sized dog. It was ink black, its fur slick in the light. But as its lips pulled back over knife-like teeth, Emma knew this was no dog.

Emma's brain screamed at her to run, to get the hell out of Dodge, but her legs wouldn't move. They were numb with fear.

She could only stare, saucer-eyed, as the thing in front of her kept pawing at its face. Then she noticed something—it only had one paw. Where the other should have been, instead there was a stump. It wasn't as effective and didn't reach as far as the monster's actual paw did, but it still jammed it up into its eye, rubbing furiously.

It howled, arching its back up toward the moon, before it threw itself forward onto the ground, so close to Emma's feet that she could feel its wet breath on her legs through her jeans as it panted.

Finally, she snapped out of it and jerked herself away, stumbling toward her car. She dug around for her keys in her bag, wishing for the first time in her life she'd had the foresight to clean all the unnecessary crap in her purse.

If she lived through the night, she swore she would be the cleanest, tidiest person on the planet. Because apparently, being tidy meant you could get to your car keys faster in the dark when there was a terrifying monster on your ass. She let out a happy, crazy little laugh when she finally found her keys. She was trying to hurry, but her hands were trembling. She was brave, but she was human, and she was scared out of her mind, even with a canister of mace in her hand.

Her hands were shaking so badly that her car keys immediately slipped out of them and hit the ground with a soft clink. She cursed and dropped to her knees, feeling around blindly for them in the dark, feeling horribly close to Velma from Scooby Doo, searching for her dropped glasses. “Crap,” she said, as her search grew more and more frantic. “Crap crap crapcrapcrapcrap--”

The dog-thing behind her gave a strained, elongated groan that was so deep, it rattled Emma's car. She felt it through the pavement on her palm, and a chill shot up her spine. In her peripheral vision, she could see the creature writhing jerkily on the ground.

She could have sobbed in relief when her fingertips finally brushed her keys for the second time. She grabbed them, and they jangled loudly as she jumped back to her feet.

Her car was so ancient, it didn't unlock with a button and had to have the key manually inserted into the door. This took her a few moments, trying to jam it into the slot in the dark with her still-shaking hands, but once she did she ripped the door open faster than she ever had in her life.

Surprisingly, the car started easily, on the first try. Emma couldn't count the number of times she'd had to get a jump start from one of her co-workers because her decrepit car wouldn't start up. Today, the old bug was faithful. She jerked the car into reverse and slammed her foot on the gas, nearly giving herself whiplash as the car lurched backward. The creature wasn't in her rear-view mirror, and her brain wanted to tell her it was gone, that it had fled off into the night, but her gut told her otherwise.

For now, though, it was nowhere in sight, and Emma was getting the hell out of there. She threw the car into drive as soon as she had enough room to move forward. The car's rubber tires squealed against the pavement, skidding for just a second before Emma hit the gas all the way.

And then there was a naked man on her windshield.

She felt him before she saw him. The thump was loud, sickening, and she felt it in her chest before she saw anything. But then there was a whole lot to see, with someone's ass cheeks pressed to the glass of her windshield, and she screamed more in surprise than fear.

The car jerked again as it was thrown back into park, clearly not accustomed to being put in and out of gears so violently. As soon as the car stopped, the man rolled off her windshield and onto the ground in front of the car with an audible thump.

Emma closed her eyes and pressed her forehead onto her steering wheel for a second, trying to keep herself from slipping into a panic attack through sheer will power, hoping to God she hadn't just killed someone with her car.

She knew it couldn't be same man who had tried to mug her, since he had been fully clothed only seconds ago, but there was a freaking monster in the parking lot and she was not about to leave the person she'd hit with her car as its midnight snack.

She shouldered her car door open and rushed around to the front of her car. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Are you okay? Please be okay. I'm so sorry—I didn't see...” She trailed off as she hovered over him, completely unsure of what to do. He was buck ass naked, every inch of his pale body visible in the moonlight, and she could feel her cheeks flushing as she scrutinized him for injury while trying to avert her eyes from certain portions of him at the same time.

And then her eyes focused on his face for the first time, as he groaned and raised his head up from the pavement.

“What the hell,” she breathed. “Jones...?”

It was, in fact, Killian Jones. He was naked, in the back parking lot of Denny's, and she had hit him with her car.

And that wasn't even the weirdest part of her day. Because she remembered then that there was a monster on the prowl, a monster she had pissed off by spraying it in the face with pepper spray.

“Killian,” she said, and somehow using his first name made the situation all the more real to her. “We have to go.” She bent down and grabbed his arm, trying her best to pull him to his feet. He was unexpectedly heavy. “Come on, we have to get out of here. I have so many questions for you, but they'll have to wait. There's a monster in the woods, but it could come back any second and I really don't want it to--” “Swan?” Jones said, sounding utterly confused. His voice was coarse, as if he'd lost it screaming his heart out at a concert the night before. His face was turned up toward her, and he was looking at her, but it seemed like he was having a hard time finding her with his eyes, or focusing them at all.

“Yeah,” she said, “It's me. I really want to know why you're naked in the back parking lot of my workplace, but right now I need you to get in my car.” Tired of waiting for him to accept her hand, she moved around behind him, squatted down, hooked her arms under his shoulders, and started hauling him to his feet.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she continued, trying to keep some semblance of calm in her voice so she didn't sound like a complete maniac, “But there's something in this parking lot. Some kind of monster. It's huge, and black with these weird glowing eyes, and it almost killed someone who was trying to mug me before I sprayed it in the face with mace. I think it ran away, but I'm pretty sure I only pissed it off.”

He let her help him to his feet, but then he had the audacity to laugh at her. Just a short, uneasy chuckle, but a laugh none the less.

“Are you laughing at me?” She said, jerking her hands away from him. Her arms went immediately to her middle, self-consciously hugging herself. “I know it sounds crazy or whatever, but I know what I saw. I know what happened. If you think just because--”

“Swan,” he said, cutting her off firmly. “You're not crazy.” Her jaw fell slack as she stared at him. “Want to know how I know that?”

He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, gently and soothingly massaging the leather of her jacket with his thumb. He stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. She wished he hadn't. But he didn't remove his hand, the warmth of which she could feel even through her thick jacket, and she was so struck by the tenderness of this that she forgot for a second how weird the situation was—and how very, very naked he still was.

She swallowed, then nodded, and he went on. “Because I'm still scrubbing pepper spray out of my eyes. That was me.”

She felt like her brain was buffering. She understood all of the individual words he had said, but what he'd told her—what he was actually saying—wasn't registering. It didn't make any sense. If she'd sprayed him, that meant something that couldn't be true.

She took a step back, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“You... You're...” Any useful words faltered. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. She was vaguely aware that she looked like a surprised trout.

“Aye,” he said, ducking his head to rub at his eyes again with his hand. She noticed then, for the first time, how they were red-rimmed and watering. “A giant, terrifying monster by night. Normal diner patron by day.”

She laughed a sharp, awkward bark of a laugh. Because “normal” wasn't exactly the word she would have picked to describe him. He had always been strange, stood out like a sore thumb—so strange that he'd earned a special nickname amongst the waitresses.

It turned out strange didn't even begin to cover it.

#cssns #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfiction #cs fanfic #ouat #the one you feed

71 notes · View notes

atmilliways · 6 years

Text

More tattoo AU

I didn’t expect to write more of this so soon, but I woke up this morning and my brain was already composing specific sentences so I went with it. May or may not have accidentally the last line from something Obama said to someone in a dream, but I can’t actually remember.

SEVERAL YEARS AGO

Skwisgaar only met Charles Offdensen because a professor paired them up for a class project. He sized him up and came to the conclusion that Charles, several years older and bespectacled and very serious, was the type to shoulder any slack in an effort to still get an A on the assignment. That was good, because Skwisgaar was getting a D in the class so far and could use the boost, but he didn’t actually have enough ambition to get it by, you know, actually studying or anything.

He did not expect Charles to actually show up at his house the next day, expecting to actually get work done. For one thing, he hadn’t even given the guy his phone number or email, let alone his physical address.

“Are you fuckings serious? You can’ts just fuckings shows up at places,” Skwisgaar hissed as he hustled Charles back out to his car before Servetta saw him... Sometimes he suspected his mother had only insisted he enroll in business school so she could hit on his more successful peers — which managed to take first place in his embarrassment hall of fame, just ahead of how shitty their craphole apartment was.

“I’m very serious,” Charles replied stubbornly. “You have to put some effort into this, at least for the, ah, oral report.”

Skwisgaar winced. He hadn’t really been paying attention when the professor explained the assignment, and public speaking wasn’t amongst his strengths. Had Charles ever shared a class with him where he had to do one of those, or...?

“And I’ve seen you try to present reports to a class. I’m not prepared to, ah, risk my GPA on this.”

Apparently yes. Skwisgaar groaned and gave his classmate a push towards his car. “Fines, fines! Let me gets my stuff, we can studies at your place.”

The car ride was awkwardly silent. Charles was just the kind of guy who didn’t automatically reach for the radio, which Skwisgaar found incomprehensible. If he could afford to have a car of his own instead of riding the damn bus to school every day, all silence would be eradicated by heavy metal blasted through all available speakers.

Studying with Charles turned out to be just as boring as a car ride with him. The longer they tried, the more frustrated and monosyllabic Skwisgaar became, until Charles finally snapped the textbook closed. There was a frown on his face, but it wasn’t the expression of someone about to give up and shoulder the workload himself — which was what Skwisgaar had been aiming for. No, here in his own very practical and neatly kept apartment full of second-hand but perfectly serviceable furniture, Charles seemed to be in his element, more in control than before. The almost-stutter of pauses and ah’s had lessened, and he looked, in fact, like a man prepared to tackle a difficult yet interesting challenge.

“What would help you concentrate on this?” he asked. “What do you usually do while the professor is lecturing?”

Skwisgaar shrugged, nonplussed. “I don’ts knows.”

“Can I see your notebook?”

Reluctantly, Skwisgaar handed it over. He always had it with him in class, always had it open while the professor droned on about risk management and investing or whatever, and he did take some notes... Mostly, though, he doodled. On each page a sparse collection of words was encroached on by a thicket of sketches, winding and twining and overgrowing the margins to take over most of the available space.

Charles flipped through that for a moment, then put the notebook down and looked at Skwisgaar over the top of his glasses like a damn librarian. “So... I’m, ah, guessing that most of the material goes in one ear and out the other?”

Skwisgaar could feel his face heating slightly as he shrugged noncommittally. It wasn’t his fault, he wanted to protest. He had never wanted to go to business school, but his mother had scraped and saved and enrolled him anyway, and never let him forget that he was why they couldn’t afford a better place to live. In Servetta’s opinion, she had made her investment in him and by the gods it was going to pay off in her old age.

“Okay,” Charles said. He gave Skwisgaar a thoughtful look. “What do you want to do with your life, really? Because it’s not business.”

It was as if the guy had read his mind. Skwisgaar, somewhere between startled and weirdly grateful, blurted out, “I wants to be the world’s greatest tattoo artists!”

“Hm.” Charles opened the notebook again and seemed to examine the sketches more closely. “Have you ever practiced? Drawing on a person, I mean.”

An hour later, Skwisgaar was sitting cross-legged on the couch facing Charles’ back, using a permanent marker to fill the reaching branches of a massive tree with dark, thick foliage. His classmate had handed him the marker and gave him some very simple instructions: don’t draw anywhere that would be visible with a shirt on, and pay attention.

And it was working.

“That was good,” Charles told him after Skwisgaar’s most recent attempt at reciting his part of the report. “You’re starting to sound more natural.”

“That ams because I thinks I kinda gets it nows,” Skwisgaar replied, a hint of amazement in his tone. “You would makes a good teachers, anyones ever tells you that?”

Charles shrugged, and the drawing of the tree rippled slightly as if caught by a breeze. “Yes. I could’ve paid my way through undergrad just by charging for tutoring. But that’s not what I want to do with my life.”

“What does you wants to do?” Skwisgaar asked.

He found, to his surprise, that he was actually curious. That never happened. Typically, he floated through life in a haze of apathy, and the only thing that made the clouds thin was being free to draw or paint — a solitary exercise that didn’t encourage a lot of connecting with other people. When he connected with other people, it was usually by having sex with them. Bodies, he’d always thought, were much more interesting than the random collection of thoughts and feelings that lived chaotically inside them.

Charles glanced over his shoulder at him. The massive World Tree that Skwisgaar had drawn on his back stretched the full length of his spine, branches and roots stretching in either direction to take up as much “canvas” as he’d been allowed. And Charles had good skin for it, smooth and unfreckled and firm with underlying muscle.

“I want to be a lawyer,” Charles told him.

Skwisgaar’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “The world’s greatest lawyer?”

“Ah, sure.”

The next week, they got an A- on their presentation. A few months after that, Skwisgaar dropped out of business school to start an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor owned by some crazy, pot-smoking redhead he’d met at a bar.

SEVERAL YEARS LATER

If he was being honest with himself, letting Nathan move in with him had not been high on Skwisgaar’s list of priorities. He hadn’t had a roommate since he’d moved out of his mom’s place, and very much relished his privacy. But Nathan wasn’t very good at keeping jobs and the burger place down the road had finally fired him for general incompetence and he couldn’t afford his own apartment... and Skwisgaar had found himself offering his spare room to the kid. After all, if Nathan had to give up on independence and move back to Florida to live with his parents, Skwisgaar would lose access to his dark and twisted imagination that churned out such powerful imagery. He paid a commission whenever he used one of Nathan’s ideas for a tattoo of course, slightly bargained down for now in lieu of rent.

The thing was, on more serious projects where they really had to talk over how to best translate a particular sketch onto a human body, Skwisgaar had started to find he actually enjoyed the collaboration. It was like when Pickles had first started teaching him how to tattoo. There was a certain wavelength that Skwisgaar functioned best at, and both Nathan and Pickles were capable of tuning in and matching it. They were, for want of a better phrase, his best friends.

Nathan had just texted to let him know he had a decent shot at getting a job in some coffee shop nearby, which meant actual rent money in the near future, when the bell over the door jingled. Skwisgaar glanced up, totally not intending to actually greet the person or anything — they had hired some gap-toothed idiot to do that these days, because nothing scared the riffraff off like being sworn at and sprayed with spittle at the same time — but he caught sight of vaguely familiar glasses and paused for a closer look.

“Hey Charles, ams that’s you?” he called.

Charles gave an awkward little wave. The man looked basically the same. Hairline a little receded, maybe, and a few more lines on his face, but other than that...

Willy, up at the front counter, spun around and glared suspiciously at Skwisgaar. “You know thisch guy? Scheriouschly? He’sch wearing a schuit.”

“Ja ja, says it don’t sprays it,” Skwisgaar shot back, striding up from his work station at the back of the room. “I haven’ts seen you in years,” he said to his old classmate, the first person to ever encourage him to go for the career he actually wanted. “What brings you to’s a place like this...” He raised an eyebrow, because Willy did have a point about the suit. There was even a tie. “...Dressed like that?”

“I, ah, just came from work. I’m a lawyer now.” He held up a sleek briefcase, then to the surprise of both men watching he put it on the counter and opened it with a click. From it, he produced a manila folder full of papers, which he held out to Skwisgaar.

Immediately, Pickles was at the counter too. “Hey mister lawyer dood, I’m the owner here. If you’re serving the place with a lawsuit or something, you gotta give that to me.”

“Ah... no, it’s not a lawsuit.” Charles looked flustered. “I, ah, just brought in some, ah, references that I wanted to talk to Skwisgaar about. For a... potential tattoo idea.”

Willy snorted loudly. “You want a tattoo? Gimme a break...”

Discretely, Skwisgaar kicked him in the shin. Or it would’ve been discreet if not for the idiot hopping around clutching his leg in exaggerated pain and cursing a blue streak at him. Skwisgaar and Pickles just ignored it in favor of the folder’s contents.

“This is all your work, innit?” Pickles asked Skwisgaar.

“Ja,” Skwisgaar replied absently, flipping through the prints of various pictures. There were sleeves and chest pieces, big tattoos and smaller ones, some that fanned out and some that knotted in on themselves. For anyone else it might have been hard to spot the connection between any of them, let alone all, but he knew at a glance that these were all projects he’d collaborated on with Nathan. He glanced up at Charles. “There ams a lot of stuffs here… Do you know whats you wants, or you just like the styles?”

“The second one,” Charles confirmed. “I saw them and… Well, I asked around. Someone gave me your card, so, ah, here I am.”

It was still flattering, of course. Sure Nathan came up with the concepts, but Skwisgaar was the one who made them a reality, embellished a little here or there, and made sure each tattoo came out absolutely perfect. He decided to take his former classmate’s sudden appearance as the compliment it was.

“All rights, I have some times before my next appointkints,” he said, waving at Charles to put the folder away and come around the counter. “Come sits back heres with me and looks at what I haves.”

“Dood, you think he’s going to be a custom job? And maybe really big?” Pickles murmured excitedly. He didn’t wait for Skwisgaar to answer, just drifted off with dollar signs in his eyes back to the customer he’d been working on before the interruption. They needed up upgrade some of the older equiptment, and Charles definitely looked like he could afford to sponsor that.

What Skwisgaar had was, essentially, pages from Nathan’s sketchbooks in a three ring binder of plastic sleeve protectors. He tugged an extra stool over for Charles and handed him the binder, then settled down to start mixing the colors in preparation for his next appointment. As he did so he commented, “You seems to has done pretty wells for yourselve."

“I was going to say the same thing,” Charles replied with a reserved smile.

“And… I seems to remembers you saids way back thens that you didn’t thinks you wants a tattoo. Somethings about it was ams too pourminents?”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I?” He turned a page, studying the drawings intently. “I don’t know, I could never, ah, picture anything I’d actually want. Your drawings were always very well done, of course, but they weren’t quite my style. But when I saw these… and especially when I found out you were the one who did them, it just, ah, seemed like a sign.”

Skwisgaar mixed an extra dab of blue into a very pale shade of indigo. “So this ams to be your first tattoos, huh mister bigs lawyer mans?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just wonderings if you ams still not the types to shows it offs, since I couldn’ts sees any,” he replied with exaggerated innocence. Then, after a moment, he added, “Virgins, heh.”

Charles glanced up at him over the top of his glasses and replied, dryly and with a very, very faint smirk, “Bold of you to assume.”

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse au

14 notes · View notes

unchartedterritoria · 6 years

Text

Conversations With An Elf (Sam Drake x Reader)

A Christmas writing prompt!

-I’m dressed up as an elf, because of my job. You’re drunk and think that I really know Santa.-

I have it up on A03 as well if you don’t want to read it here

A03 Link

Just a one-shot piece of seasonal fluff. Merry Christmas!

This was not the holiday employment I had in mind, you think to yourself, the faint sound of jingling bells coming from the curled tips of your elf shoes.

Classes were done for the semester, and you could use some income so when your best friend offered you a job for the holidays at the mall she worked, you jumped at the opportunity. You figured it would be wrapping gifts with the elderly ladies of the knitting club or, at worst, manning the customer service desk and getting yelled at all day. You weren't prepared for the festive red, white and green outfit she presented you with on your first day.

As one of Santa's elves, your job was to bring the kid to Santa and send them on their way with a cheap coloring book and a candy cane when they were done. After only one day of crying kids and Christmas themed pick up lines from skeevy fathers, you longed for the not so glamorous world of customer service.

It had been two weeks on the job, and you had sunk into a routine. Fake smile your way through your shift then head to the small bar next to the mall to decompress and cross another day off your countdown calendar you kept in your purse for when this job would end.

Today had been an exceptionally excruciating one. Five screaming kids, four scared toddlers, three horny dads, two peeing babies and you left the normal clothes you change into after work at home.

So, here you sit with your whiskey sour, perched on a bar stool in a small dive bar, dressed as an elf.

You had been preoccupied making your weekly grocery list and doodling in your small notebook that you didn't notice the man that sat three stools down from you.

“I didn't think elves were allowed to drink.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, I didn't elves could drink,” He repeated a little louder with the same low, fluid voice and slight drunken slur.

"Well, I'm off duty. Therefore, this elf can," You answer without bothering to look up from your writing.

“I'm pretty sure when you work for the big man in red, you are never off duty,” He admonishes you.

Oh for Christ sakes, gimme a break. You think to yourself as you finally raise your head and glance at the source of the voice. The sour look on your face is turning to one of a pleasant surprise as your eyes lock with the hazel ones that belong to the handsome man that has been addressing you.

"I got permission; I promised him I wouldn't drink and toboggan," you say as you pick up your drink. You give the glass a slight tip of acknowledgment in his direction and take a sip, the sweet and sour concoction burning your throat on the way down.

“Tobbagan,” He repeats after you with a little laugh, “I always liked that word. Tobbagan,” He enunciates and downs the rest of the drink in front of him.

“Not a fan of sledding?”

"Ech," He says, nose wrinkling with a look of disgust. "Just listen to it, 'sledding.' It sounds prissy."

"Prissy. I'll remember that" You nod amusingly to yourself. You finish your drink and set your empty glass on the edge of the bar.

"Hey, you mind if I-?" He says, motioning to the stool next to you. You pause for a second. He's cute, and he's amusing, why the hell not? You think to yourself before you give him an affirmative nod. He slides over and gently slinks down on the stool next to you. He puts his empty glass next to yours and motions to the bartender for a refill on both of them.

“No, no, you don't have to do that. I really should get going anyway.” You say, stowing your notebook away in your purse.

"C'mon, I insist. It's a busy time for you guys; it's the least I could do for one of Santa's helpers." His warm hazel eyes win you over as you stow your purse back under your bar stool and taking your fresh drink in hand, giving his a clink of appreciation before saying 'thank you' and taking a sip.

“So do you get to see the big guy a lot?” He asks.

“Santa?”

“Yeah.”

“I see him every day,” you answer, keeping your tone pleasant despite thinking about the horrible excuse for a Santa that the mall has this year, Rick that smelled like pickles and house paint.

"You do?" He questioned, his eyes lighting up underneath the thin sheen from the booze. "Ya think maybe you could ask him for a favor for me?"

You stare at him skeptically as you set your drink down.

“Aren't you a little old to be asking Santa for presents?” You question him.

"Nah, it's not for me," he says, reaching into his back pocket, dropping it on the bar between the two of you. He flips it open to his license. Across from it in a little plastic sleeve, is a picture of him and a little girl perched on his shoulders. From the looks of the photo, she couldn't have been more than four years old. A small blonde with a smile so cute and so big it would make your heart burst.

"This is my niece, Cassie. She's a real sweetie." He says, his voice warm with love and pride.

“She's adorable,” you tell him.

"Isn't she? You can tell she got her looks from her mother. If she got them from my brother, she'd have a square head, weird feet, and a little wang," He says, causing you to choke on your drink a little in surprise.

“Well, you know, if she had one,” He adds, taking a sip of his own drink in front of him.

"Anyway, she wants this thing. It's like this animal excavation kit thing where you get these blocks, and you chip away at it 'til you get these animal skeletons?" He says, gesturing with his arms while he tries to explain it to you. The liquor in his system causing theword 'skeletons' to sound like 'scallions.' As he slips his wallet back into his pocket, you hope that someone was picking him up or he was taking a cab. Him driving is not an option.

“That does sound pretty cool,” You tell him.

"Wish I'd gotten something like that when I was a kid. We weren't big on presents. Me and Nathan, that's my brother, the one with the little-" gesturing towards the crotch of his pants.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You cut him off, trying to keep him from finding another colorful word to use to describe his brother's genitalia and also trying not to look down where he was pointing. You knew nothing good ever came from looking when a handsome drunk man was pointing at his crotch.

"Yeah. Nathan and I were dealt a rough hand, so it was just me and him growing up. We didn't have any money. Sometimes we didn't even have a roof over our heads, but I made sure he got something at Christmas. Cause he's my little brother, you know what I mean?" He asks.

You nod with a warm smile.

"Cassie's a good kid. I couldn't afford to get Nathan the cool stuff that he wanted when we were kids. I wanna make sure that Cassie gets the cool stuff she wants. You know what I mean?"

“I get you,” You answer, wondering how much more of this sweet, inebriated guy tugging on your heartstrings you could take.

“If anyone can make sure this kid gets what she wants, it's Santa Claus. You think you could ask him for me?”

"Let me talk to him, and we'll see what we can do," You answer, a stock response you had heard Fake Santa Rick say to children for the last two weeks.

“You're a good elf, Santa should give you a raise,” He decrees.

"I think he should too!" You say giggling in agreement.

“You guys should get warmer uniforms too. I could never understand that about you elves. You aren't cold in those tights? Or itchy?”

“Surprisingly, it's more comfortable than you think,” you tell him. Looking downright enlightened, he reaches out and rubs the fabric of the shirt on your upper arm, the sensation causing him to nod impressively.

"Better than I thought," He says. The two of you sharing a little laugh over your outfit, the feel of his strong hands and the liquor lubricating your thoughts zaps your willpower and gives you ideas of possibly taking him home with you. It had been a while, and this handsome guy is giving you the warm and tinglies down to the bells on your toes wasn't a bad choice.

The door on those thoughts closed as he looked toward the entrance to the bar. An older man that just walked in is motioning him to get a move on.

“That's my ride. Time to go. Unless you think Santa would be willing to give me a life home in the sleigh?” He asks honestly.

Starting to believe that this guy really thinks your an elf, and your willpower returning, you tell him nicely, "Santa only deliverstoys, he's not a taxi service.”

"Fair enough. You will ask him for that thing, right? For Cassie? Cause she's my little buddy, my princess. You know what I mean?" He asks, putting on his leather jacket.

"I know what you mean," The repetitiveness of this phrase makes you smile, "And I will ask him, I promise."

He drains the last of his drink and puts his hand on your shoulder. Leaning down close, he whispers into your ear, "You're a wonderful elf, sweetheart," giving you a wet kiss on the cheek. A blush spreads across your face and down your neck. The scent of the whiskey breath, cologne and cigarettes waft up your nose.

He zips up his coat and heads towards the door to meet the older man waiting for him.

“And you're a good man, Sam Drake!” You call after him.

He stops abruptly, turning back to look at you with eyes wide with surprise.

“How did you know my name?” He asks, his voice full of wonder, like that of a child.

“I'm an elf, we're magic!” You tell him coyly. Telling him you saw his name on his driver's license just wouldn't have the same effect.

"Merry Christmas!" You call to him.

He gives you one last smile, the sparkle in his warm hazel eyes making the breath catch in your throat.

"Merry Christmas," He says before turning and heading out the door into the cold night.

You pull out your phone. With a quick search on Amazon, you find the toy that Sam was talking about, the gleam in his eyes and the gooey feelings that they induced in you cause you to hit the buy button. Typing Sam's address from his license into the shipping info and hoping that it is right, you add a note to go in the package. 'For Cassie, for being on the nice list. For Sam, for also being on the nice list. -Santa' You sign the note, 'An elf' and, still brimming with some liquid courage, include your phone number with it.

You put your phone back in your purse and pull your shopping list out again. You add a few items to it, all the while hoping you are on the nice list yourself this year, and high enough on it to get a phone call from Sam

#sam drake fanfiction #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #my writing

90 notes · View notes

imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Ghost Tony haunting an apartment in Brooklyn, and Bucky and Steve move in.

[A/N: I am blaming at least 12% of this on @captn-sara-holmes.]

WhenTony woke up, he was a ghost.

Hishands, when he looked down at them, were sort of translucent-looking,like they’d been etched into glass, and so was the rest of him thathe could see. Everything around him was colorless and pale.

Yep.Definitely a ghost.

“Goddamn it, that son of a bitch killedme?For fifty bucks and a bunch of credit cards that won’t work forhim? Ug. All right, let’s just get on with it, then. Bright light,angel choir, magic door, stairway to heaven, whatever. Come on, let’sgo.”

Tonylooked around, but all he could see was an alley -- the same alleythat the mugger had dragged him into. “Unending darkness?”

Hetried to walk out of the alley and couldn’t. It didn’t hurt andthere was no sensation of a barrier, just... his body wouldn’tcross the line made by the facades of the buildings on either side.

“Highwayto hell?”

Nothing.

Someonewas coming down the main street. Tony pushed as close as he could tothe mouth of the alley to look -- it was a man near Tony’s age,tall and blond and built like a brick shithouse. Hewouldn’tget yanked into an alley and murdered by a mugger. Tony called, “Hi!Hello? I just woke up as a ghost and I’m stuck; can you call theghostbusters for me?” Officially, they were CPSR -- the Center forParanormal Study and Relief -- but nobody called them that.

Blond-and-buffjust kept walking.

“Hello?”

Notso much as a glance. Asshole. Even if it wasn’t his fault that Tonywas apparently invisible and inaudible.

Ifno one called CPSR for him, Tony was stuck waiting for one of theregular sweeps and hoping that they were paying attention to theirdetection equipment rather than half-assing it. Tony tried to kick ata discarded energy drink can, and his foot swiped right through it.“Are you kiddingme?”he whined. “I’m stuck and I’m not even corporeal?”

Hepouted, but he’d never been very good at wallowing. It didn’tlast long before he’d decided to find out how much movement he wasallowed, and what he coulddo.

[mobile readers, ‘ware the readmore!]

Buckywas sweating like a glass of ice-water at high noon in July, only alot less refreshing than that. But at least they’d finally gottenall their furniture and boxes moved into the apartment. At least itwas a first-floor apartment and they hadn’t had to lug everythingup several flights of stairs. All that was left was unpacking, andthat could wait until later.

Much,much later.

Beforethat, he was going to order a couple of pizzas and fall onto thecouch to watch a movie -- they didn’t have cable or internet hookedup yet, but the Blu-ray player ought to work just fine.

Ittook him a few minutes to find the box where they’d thrown all thecables, and the aging player actually threw a couple of sparks at himwhen he plugged it in, but finally, he got it all hooked up. Jesus,it was a lot of work, being lazy.

Buckyflipped on the TV and the Blu-ray menu appeared, then flickered andwas overlaid with a partly-transparent picture of a man who seemed tobe examining the inside of the TV. He was strikingly handsome, thoughsomewhat marred by the disgusted purse of his lips. “Are youkidding me?” the man said. “Two months, I’ve waited for someoneto take this apartment, and this piece of shit is the best they’vegot?”

Buckycould only stare for a moment, and then he called, “Steve! I thinkwe’ve got a ghost!”

“Wait,you can see me like this?” the ghost said, suddenly looking out ofthe TV at Bucky.

“Goddamn it,” Steve growled from his bedroom, where he had insisted ontrying to put his bed together immediately instead of putting it offfor a day or three like a normal person. As if either of them hadseen any action recently enough to need a bed. “The bastard hadbetter be friendly; we can’t afford to bring the ghostbusters in.”

“Ihave a name,” the ghost pointed out testily. “It’s Tony. Why amIthebastard when I’m the one who got killed? If anyone should be calleda bastard, it’s the asshole who killed me! Anyway, the ghostbustersare a free service!”

“Sure,they’re free,” Steve said, stomping out of the bedroom to glareat the ghost in the TV, “but have you seenthekind of wreckage they leave behind? We justmovedin! If we get the place slimed or destroy a wall with particle beamburns--”

“Ohmy god, you’re thatguy,”Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes. “The one who couldn’t seemeevenwhen I was waving and shouting. Ug, and here I thought things werelooking up.”

Tonywasn’t a malevolentghost,but “friendly” didn’t quite fit the bill, either. He seemed tohave some sort of grudge against Steve, in particular.

Thefirst time that Steve was in the shower and Tony manifested in hisshower radio to sing along (badly) with Steve’s terrible oldies,Steve let out a shriek that could probably be heard three blocksaway.

Stevecouldn’t turn on his phone to make a call without Tony popping upto ask if he was finally going to call the ghostbusters.

Everytime they sat down to watch TV, Tony was there, more transparent thanusual but an obvious and distracting outline on the screen.

“Okay,I can’t take this anymore,” Tony complained when the Blu-Rayplayer sparked, making the TV screen flicker. “Buckaroo, go getyour toolkit.”

“Howare you going to tell him how to fix it?” Steve wondered. “Don’tyou have to leave the TV when we turn it off?”

Tonywinked out of sight. “Thank you for volunteering your laptop,” hesaid from Steve’s laptop across the room. Tony’s face replacedSteve’s screensaver. He was grinning toothily, and Bucky had tosuppress a laugh at Steve’s affronted noise.

“Youare such an asshole,”Steve grumbled, stomping out of the room.

“Youcould just call the ghostbusters and be rid of me!” Tony calledafter him.

“Ithink he’s starting to like you, actually,” Bucky said, carryingthe laptop over to the coffee table.

“Morelike he’s keeping me around to torment me,” Tony complained. “Iwant this taken into account when I’m facing my eternal judgment.”

Buckylaughed. “Sure,” he teased, “Steve might be worth knocking offa few millennia, but what about the privilege of getting to hang outwith me?”

“You’rethe worst torment of all, hot stuff,” Tony shot back. “Now comeon, get your pliers. There’s a loose wire in there, and a corrodedbolt, and then I’ll talk you through a quick-and-dirty way to fix aloose circuit board.”

“Youasshole, that’s barely a sip,” Tony complained when Bucky put themug on the table in front of Steve’s laptop.

“Youmanage this, and I’ll get you all you want,” Bucky promised. Heowed Tony something;the ghost had talked Bucky through a dozen different repairs over thelast couple of weeks. “I just don’t want to have to clean up awhole mug’s worth if you pick it up and then lose it again.”

Tonydisappeared from the laptop, then came back a minute later. “Ican’t,” he whined. “My hand just goes right through it, everytime.”

“Youhave to reallywant it.”Bucky strained to remember the basic lessons he’d gotten in highschool health, but no one ever paid attention during the IfYou Become a Ghostunit.

“Oh,believe me, I’d diefora cup of coffee right now,” Tony said.

Buckyflicked a crumpled-up napkin at the computer screen for the joke.“Come on, try again.”

Tonydisappeared for longer this time. Bucky was still staring at the mugand willing it to move when the key rattled in the door and Stevecame in. “Heya, Buck, what’s going on?”

“We’reworking on trying to get Tony to access the material plane,” Buckysaid.

Steveleaned over Bucky’s shoulder to look. “With coffee?Do we really want our ghost to be caffeinated?”

Tonypopped back onto the laptop screen. “Fuck you, Rogers,” he said.He sounded frustrated. “Caffeine doesn’t affect ghosts. It’spsychological.”

“Wait,it’s the coffeeyouwant, not the mug,” Bucky said. “Can you drink the coffee withouttryingto lift the mug?”

“Thatsounds messy,” Steve said, but he dropped onto the couch next toBucky to watch the experiment in action.

Tonymade another face. “I guess I can shove my face through the muginstead of my hand and see what happens. At least you won’t be ableto see me look like an idiot.”

“Everytime you show up,” Steve said, smirking.

Tonyflipped Steve off and disappeared again.

Themug still didn’t move, but Bucky leaned forward to watch. “Comeon, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.

Ittook almost five minutes of breath-holding suspense, but all at once,the level of coffee in the mug dipped. “Oh my god,”Tony said, falling into the laptop screen with a blissed-out sigh.

“Yes!You did it!” Bucky cheered, and put his fist against the laptopscreen for Tony to bump.

“Andnow he’ll be stealing coffee from us all the time,” Steve said,though he looked more amused than annoyed. “Why would you do this,Buck?”

“Justyours, Rogers,” Tony said, grinning. “I’ve seen the sludge ofsugar and milk that Buckaroo dumps in his mug. Gross.”

Brockwalked Bucky home after their third date and crowded him up againstthe door to kiss him good night. That was good, that was brilliant,so he invited Brock in for coffee.

Buckytried not to grin too stupidly when Brock agreed.

Theymade out on the couch for a while, and Bucky was aching blissfullywhen Brock reached for the remote. “Let’s have a littlebackground noise, yeah?”

“No,wait, you--”

“Well,well, well, and who have we here?”

“--don’twant to do that,” Bucky sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

Brocknarrowed his eyes at the TV screen. “You have a ghost?”

“Ormaybe the ghost has him,” Tony shot back.

“Ignorehim,” Bucky told Brock. “Or better yet, just turn the TV backoff.” Tony still hadn’t mastered turning the TV on by himself ,and while he couldmanifestin their cell phones, he really hated being confined to so small ascreen.

Brockmade a noise. It wasn’t a happy one. “But he’d still be here,”Brock pointed out. “Watching.I don’t think I’m down for that.”

Buckythrew a glare in Tony’s direction. “Can I walk you home?” heoffered. Maybe, as long as they weren’t here...

“Nah.Mood’s gone.” Brock started straightening his clothes, stuffinghis wallet and keys back into his pockets. “Maybe next time,sweetcheeks.”

Whenhe was gone, Bucky flopped onto the couch and snarled in Tony’sdirection. “I hope you’re happy, asshole.”

“Idon’t like him,” Tony said. “There’s something wrong withhim. No one is that ruggedly handsome in real life. He’s got to bea spy or a serial killer or something.”

“He’snot a spy!” Bucky yelled, frustrated and angry. Why was Tony beingsuch a dick?“Just-- stay the fuck out of my love life!”

“Fine!”Tony sneered.

“Good!”

“Fine!”Tonydisappeared from the TV before Bucky could turn it off, and theflicker of the screen as he left somehow managed to convey a slammingdoor.

Tonydidn’t come back.

Buckytook to leaving the TV on all the time, by way of invitation.Nothing.

Aweek later, Bucky mentioned it to Steve. “You haven’t heard fromTony lately, have you?”

Stevehummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. Why? You two have alovers’ spat?”

“Ifonly it was that simple,” Bucky muttered. He didn’t know why Tonyhad been so touchy and weird about Brock, but he felt oddly guiltyfor their argument.

“Maybehe finally Moved On,” Steve suggested.

Oh,god. Had that argument been the last time he had seen Tony? A pang ofregret slithered around his spine to curl, cold and heavy, in hisstomach.

“Youwish,”Tony said.

Bothof them whirled to face the TV, but Tony lingered only long enough toturn his nose up at Steve, and then faded away again. He hadn’teven lookedatBucky.

Buckydidn’t see Tony for another two weeks after that. He would haveworried, except that every few days, he’d hear Tony’s voice --talking to Steve.

Stevewas infuriatingly calm about it when Bucky asked him. “Tony sayshe’s giving you space,” Steve said. “He says that’s what youwanted.”

“Ididn’t mean I wanted to never see him!”

Steveeyed Bucky thoughtfully. “I think Tony’s right about Brock. Imean, not that he’s a spy, but I think the guy is bad news.”

“Ohmy god, can you both give it a rest?Jesus,isn’t a guy allowed to get laid once in a while?”

Brockactually turned up at the apartment the morning after Bucky broke upwith him, the fucknut.

Buckydidn’t even want to listen. It had turned out that Brock was one ofthose alt-right assholes who thought fascism was actually the bestway to run a society. No matter how great Brock was in the sack,there was no getting past that bullshit. Bucky clutched at his mug ofcoffee and wondered if he was pissed enough to throw it right inBrock’s face.

Ofcourse, Brock wasn’t so much pleading with Bucky to take him backas being vaguely threatening about Bucky’s poor life choices, whichwas definitely not endearing him to Bucky at all.

Bucky’smug suddenly got lighter. Before he could process that, a spray ofcoffee appeared out of thin air to drench Brock.

Buckycouldn’t help it: he laughed. “Guess my ghost doesn’t like yourattitude, either,” he said.

WhileBrock was still sputtering, Bucky pushed him the two steps needed toget him out the door, and firmly closed the door in his face. Andthen locked it for good measure.

“Doesthis mean you’re talking to me again?” Bucky wondered hopefully.

TheTV flickered, and Tony was there, arms crossed and lips pursed in apetulant pout. “I told you he was no good,” Tony said.

Buckywas too relieved to see him again to be annoyed. “Yeah, you did.”

Everythingwent back to normal after that, except that Tony and Steve seemed tobe getting along better. Steve even left a mug of coffee on thecounter for Tony in the mornings, when he got up for his daily run,and Tony had stopped tormenting Steve just for the fun of it.

Buckyhadn’t found anyone else to date, but that was okay; he and Steveand Tony kicked around the apartment and played dumb games together.And then when Steve started seeing a woman he worked with, it wasjust Bucky and Tony hanging out, and that was fun, too.

“Youdon’t think it’s too weird, do you?” he asked Natasha one daywhen they met for lunch. “That I’m friends with the ghost?”

“Justbecause he’s a ghost doesn’t mean he’s not a person,” Natashasaid. “It’s a little weird, maybe, but it’s good of you to keephim company. No one ever Moved On because they were bored, you know?”

Buckydidn’t mention the way the thought of Tony Moving On made hisstomach cramp into knots. Having a ghost for a friend was only alittle weird. Having a crushona ghost... that was probably taking things too far.

Theknock at the door was strident and official-sounding. Bucky and Steveexchanged a startled glance, and then Steve went to open the door.

“Ohmy god,” Bucky groaned. The fucking ghostbusters. It had beenmonths,and nowtheywere doing a sweep?

“Goodafternoon,” the ‘buster said. She was a petite redhead, and Buckywas frankly amazed that she wasn’t staggering under the weight ofthe proton pack strapped to her back. “We’re from CPSR. Are yougentlemen aware that you have a ghost on-site?” Her partner lookedlike the sort of no-nonsense career ‘buster that they put onposters. He didn’t say anything, but nodded tersely as Stevestepped back to let them in.

“No,”Bucky said, at the same moment Steve said, “Yes.”

Stevegave Bucky a raised eyebrow, and Bucky sighed. “Yeah, okay, buthe’s kind of a friend. Can’t we keep him a little longer?”

Theguy tugged a sweeper out of his pocket and thumbed it on. “I’mnot saying we’re sticklers for the rules,” he told Bucky, “butit’s my experience that they usually wanttoMove On.” He pushed a glowing blue button, and a pale lightilluminated the room, showing Tony standing right in the middle ofit. “Hey, man,” the ‘buster said. “How’s it going?”

Theredhead rolled her eyes. “Jim, we’re not here for conversation.Get on with it.”

“Relax,Pepper,” Jim said. “It’s not a hostile. I’d like to getthrough just one whole day without getting slimed, if that’s okaywith you.”

Tonyfolded his arms. “Oh, sure, nowyouguys show up,” he groused. “I was just getting comfortable.” Helooked over at Steve. “Can you see me?”

Stevenodded. “You’re shorter than I expected.”

“Fuckyou, Rogers,” Tony said, but he held out a fist for Steve to bump.

Steveovershot and wound up with his fist halfway through Tony’s, whichTony found hilarious. “It’s been real, and it’s been fun,”Tony said, and Steve finished with him in chorus: “but it hasn’tbeen real fun.”

“MaybeI’ll see you again on the other side,” Steve said.

“Notif I see you first,” Tony quipped. He grinned, but it faded againas soon as he turned to Bucky. “Buck...”

“Damnit,” Bucky said, “I want to be able to hug you.” Steve droppeda reassuring hand on his shoulder. Why? Why did Tony have to Move Onnow?Of course, the longer they waited, the more it was going to hurt togive Tony up. Bucky knew that. But he still railed against it.

“Ihate to break up the moving farewells,” Jim said, “but I don’tthink we can send you On your way yet. You’re still tied--”

“Oh,for fucksake, who ever heard of a ghost who acquired UnfinishedBusiness AFTER they died?” Tony burst out.

“Actually,”Pepper tried, “it’s--”

“Okay,I’m going to do this, and then we can get on with things. Okay?Okay. Bucky, I’m sorry to do this to you.”

“Whatare you babbling about?” Bucky asked.

Tonyhuffed. “I think I’m in love with you. It’s driving me crazythat I can’t even touch you, and I managed to rescue you from thatBrock asshole, but I can’t keep you from everyone,and sooner or later you’re going to fall for someoneandthen you’ll leave me! And frankly I’d rather be gone before thathappens, so can we please shuffle me off this mortal coil or whateverbefore I die againfromembarrassment?”

“Whatwe were trying to say,” Jim said, before Bucky could recover fromthat, “was that we can’t send you On because you’re notactually dead.”

Ifit were possible for a ghost to get paler, Tony might have. Hewhirled to stare at the ghostbusters. “What?”

Buckycouldn’t come up with anything better to say, so he repeated it.“What?”

“Accordingto these readings,” Pepper said, eyes on her scanner, “you’rein a coma.”

Itwas dark, and there was a voice. Several voices, actually, but one ofthem he knew.It was that voice that drew him up out of the darkness and spun himaround until he slotted back into his body.

Hecould feelthingsagain. His toes were cold and his back ached and his neck itched.He’d forgotten what itching felt like. (If this were a movie, he’dsay something stupid like being grateful for getting to feel thatmuch, but instead, it was just annoying.)

Someonewas holding his hand. That felt pretty nice. Was it the owner of thevoice?

“...Mr.Stark? Can you hear me?” said someone irrelevant.

“Tony,come on, squeeze my fingers for me, just a little,” the voice said.

Hetried. He didn’t want the voice to give up on him and go awayagain.

“...muscleatrophy,” another irrelevant voice was saying. “So it will be alot of work to...”

Tonywanted. Tony wanted the voice to stay more than anything. Wanted toopen his eyes and see the face.

“Comeon, Tony, you can do it,” the voice said. “You have to wantit,just like before, but you can do it for me, right? I love you, baby,I’m right here, waiting for you. Don’t give up.”

Hewanted it, he neededit,more than he’d ever wanted sleep or coffee or-- He could do it. Hecould. He would.Tony wanted--

--andhis eyes opened, his hand squeezing with all his pitiful might. Infront of him were two eyes, the pale blue of a winter sky. Sothat’s what color they are,Tony thought. Then the eyes crinkled and filled with tears. Tonyblinked, re-focusing, and saw the face.

Theface that belonged to the voice. The face and the voice of the manhe’d fallen in love with, who was squeezing his hand, crying andsmiling all at once. “You did it, Tony. You’re back.” The manwhose name was--

“Bucky.”

~ @27dragons

#prompts #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #steve rogers #au: paranormal #i guess?#27dragons #2wayierotoro

423 notes · View notes

serenitysilverfantasyworld · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4- New Life

Sorry it’s been so long since last posting. Had some trouble on where to go from the last chapter.

A Week later

*Back to Kyoko

“Kyoko you have another letter.” Misaki said as they left the hospital to start practicing going around the school with her service dog Zuko.

“Great.” Kyoko said stopping to the side of the front door.

“Alright.” Misaki said as she tore open the letter.

Dear Kyoko,

You’re right, I couldn’t get much sleep while my parents were away. My youngest brother Ayame still has a hard time staying asleep especially when my mother wasn’t around. But there is no need to worry, I’m well rested now thank you very much for your concern. Yea my mom is about ready to pop, she has been instructed by the doctor to stay off her feet as much as possible to avoid hypertension…? Not sure what that means exactly, but I guess it’s harmful for the baby and mother. She isn’t due for a couple more weeks. To be truly honest I don’t know much about pregnancies but compared to her others she is very large it has me and my dad a little worried.

The Ootori Medical Inc.?! That is a HUGE company, I’m sure your dad is super busy trying to run it. Wow, this is crazy… those hospitals are super nice and have the best technology around, so you’re definitely receiving the best care you can if you’re in one of their hospitals. I’m sure your eyesight will return to normal again. Have you heard anything about your eyesight yet?

Don’t worry about venting your problems, I am a friend after all and now I know you a little more than I did before because of it, so you vent as much as you need. What happened to your mother?

In my honest opinion I think your ex-boyfriend made a big mistake in letting you go that’s for sure. You seem like such a wonderful girl, every time I read your letters I feel like I am drawn closer to you. Until next letter Kyoko.

~Ikuto

After reading the letter they made their way to the train station to head to Yoran Academy to practice walking around the school to all her classes, and to the lunchroom.

Once they went through the front gates of the school Kyoko’s mind went back to Ikuto’s letter. “Do you think I should try to meet Ikuto?” Kyoko asked Misaki as they stepped inside the front doors.

“I’m not sure sweetie, but you would have to wait until this training is over with Zuko because that is what the service dog agency instructed.”

“Yea that’s true...” Kyoko sighed as they walked between her classes in order.

“So the next one is your medical class at the college across town.” Misaki said looking down at her school schedule.

Kyoko’s heart sank the realization of her condition hitting her like a ton of bricks. “I guess I should drop that class and find a different one to take. What other medical classes was I enrolled in?” Kyoko sighed, as Misaki lead them to a bench in the courtyard.

“Looks like there are 3 medical classes at the medical campus across town.” Misaki said flipping through all the enrollment papers on her clipboard.

“Alright, let’s go to the attendance office after we take a break and reply to Ikuto’s letter while we have some lunch.” Kyoko replied.

“Alright,” Misaki replied as she led them to the nearest courtyard. Once they sat down she pulled out a couple of sandwiches from her bag and a travel bowl for Zuko with a Ziploc bag of food for him to eat. She set Kyoko’s lunch on her lap so she knew where it was.

“So Misa-chan. Why do you think Zuko is named Zuko?” Kyoko asked, curious since she had never seen what her dog looks like.

“I think it’s because his fur looks like he’s on fire, you know like Zuko from that television show you used to watch as a kid. I believe he could bend fire…?” Misaki said quizzically, not sure her information was accurate.

“Oh I get it so his coat is bright red like a fire?” Kyoko replied an image of Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender flashing through her mind as she took a bite of her sandwich.

“Yea, and he even has a darker red patch across one eye.” Misaki replied as she finished her sandwich. “I’m ready when you are.” She said pulling her notepad and pen out.

“Alright.” Kyoko replied as she told Misaki what to write between bites of her sandwich.

After finishing the letter Misaki slid it into the envelope, sealing it and stamping it.

“Are you starting to feel something for this boy?” Misaki asked as she wrote the addresses on the envelope.

“No!” Kyoko retorted cheeks flushing a bright shade of red. “He’s just a…friend. Honestly I barely know the guy I can’t afford to love a stranger.” Kyoko said standing up, smacking her cheeks slightly to dispel her blushing cheeks. “Let’s go to the office, I would like to change my college medical courses to something else.” She reached down, feeling for Zuko’s food bowl that was now empty, setting it on the bench next to her for Misaki to add to her bag. “Maybe for a music class.”

“Alright I’m going to quickly run this to the mailbox I saw just outside the school gates.” Misaki said as she left, her running footsteps becoming quieter with each step away from Kyoko.

“Alright I’ll meet you there.” Kyoko said as she looked down towards where she felt Zuko was against her leg. “Let’s go to the office Zuko, like we practiced.” She said feeling for the harness as he gently lead her there. “I guess my life will start anew this year… I hope I can do it.”

A few days later

*Back to Ikuto

“Ikuto wake up!” His father shouted late one night.

“What is it?” Ikuto groaned wiping his eyes as he turned on the lamp on his nightstand.

“Your mom is in labor and I need to take her to the hospital, you’re in charge.”

Ikuto woke with a start by what his dad said. “Alright I’ll open up the bed and breakfast and watch the kids.” He said getting dressed quickly to help his dad take his mom down the stairs.

Once they got to the front doors of the house an ambulance pulled up in the driveway. As the ambulance pulled away and blared on to the hospital Ikuto stepped back inside to find Akane at the top of the stairs.

“Iku, what’s going on?” He asked as Ikuto bounded up the stairs to pick him up.

“Mommy’s going to the hospital to have the baby, so let’s go back to sleep and you’ll see mom later ok?” He said laying him back into his bed.

Once tucking Akane in Ikuto went down to the living room, pacing nervously until he had to open up the bed and breakfast in a few hours.

As the day wore on Ikuto did his best to keep busy so he didn’t worry about his mom. While he and several part time employees were loading the shipment of supplies inside from the supply truck the mail carrier came in with a pile of letters for the bed and breakfast.

“Thanks!” Ikuto said, the mail carrier placed the pile of mail on top of the box he was carrying. He placed the box into the storage room in the back, picking the letters up off the box. He shuffled through the letters until he saw one from Kyoko. He was surprised and elated that she was able to reply so quickly, he slipped the letter into his pocket unable to check it until after he closed the bed and breakfast for the night.

The day sped by as the bed and breakfast finally closed its doors for the night, Ikuto stood in the doorway and thanked the employees for doing such a great job before he turned and locked the front doors. He trudged his way to the house and fell exhaustedly on the couch when he heard the phone ringing in the kitchen. He rushed up to grab it, it was his father telling him that he had two new siblings a boy and a girl. Ikuto was so shocked that he gawked blankly and he said goodnight to his father.

Ikuto wandered back to the couch to finally read Kyoko’s letter.

Dear Ikuto,

I’m happy to hear that you were able to get some sleep to recover from your busy week. Were you able to still get any assignments done for your online school? If you need help I can do my best to help you with them, we could call on the phone and figure the assignments out that way, maybe…?

I’ve been scared to tell you this for the past few weeks… but to answer your question, no my eyes aren’t better. I’m blind… permanently…

Because of my… condition I got a service dog a few days ago, his name is Zuko. He has a cute face as far as I can feel his fur is really soft and plush feeling. Misaki tells me that he has bright red fur. He is such a sweetheart, when we walk together he is so gentle and prompt to moving me around obstacles and helping me cross streets safely. Lately we’ve been working on going around the school campus so he knows where each of my classes are. I’m also working on memorizing how many steps to take and about where the stairs are. I’m actually considering moving to the dorms here so I don’t have to worry so much about the trip to school from my house as much. I just don’t want to get lost, because last time I tried to take the train somewhere I got hopelessly lost, and that was when I could see... so it would be harder now…

I’m scared to move to the dorms to be honest, because I’m sure my father would be unhappy with the decision. And when he’s mad it usually doesn’t end well for me. The more I think about it though I should just do it because it’s my life and I can live it the way I want to. Is that too selfish? I mean once I graduate, I was going to move out anyways, so moving out a year earlier shouldn’t make that much of a difference right?

I’m happy to hear that my venting isn’t troublesome for you, and if you ever need to vent about your problems I’m all ears. I want to get to know you better too.

So I had a question for you, and I’m sorry if it is a little personal, but I am curious. Do you have anyone you are currently seeing… or… dating I guess is the right word… sorry I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I just want to make sure that us writing each other isn’t causing problems for you if you are in a romantic relationship with someone. The last thing I want to do is cause problems for anyone... especially you.

You know what, that’s too personal, forget I asked it was a stupid question. Hope to hear from you soon. Tell your family hi for me.

~Kyoko

Once he was finished reading Shigure came down the stairs, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he entered the living room.

“What is it Shigure?” He asked, setting the letter down.

“I had a bad dream.” He mumbled as he crawled up onto the couch.

“I’m sorry buddy, you can sleep next to me if you want.” Ikuto said as he grabbed the notepad on the coffee table with a pen next to it.

“Why are you crying?” He asked.

Ikuto’s eyes widened, not realizing before that tears were falling from his eyes. He wiped them away with the base of his hand. “It’s nothing buddy.” He said as he picked up the notebook and pencil.

“What are you writing?” Shigure asked climbing onto the couch to look at the notebook.

“A letter to Kyoko.” Ikuto replied smiling down at him. “But you need to go to sleep or else you will be too tired to see mommy at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Shigure yawned as he laid his head on Ikuto’s lap while Ikuto wrote his reply to Kyoko. “If you make Kyoko cry I’ll be sad.” He mumbled as he fell asleep.

#thepenpal #romance #serenitysilverfantasyworld #lovestory

0 notes

beewaggle · 7 years

Text

Undercover, Out of Mind (Ch2)

Title: Undercover, Out of Mind Summary: An enforcer for the Freelancer Gang Washington got more than he bargained for and paid the price. Now that he’s out, Washington is put directly into the path of old ghosts and new enemies while navigating Blood Gulch’s underworld with only Police Investigators Tucker and Caboose as backup. Chapter Summary: Tucker and Caboose react to meeting Wash. Wash makes contact with an old...friend. Rating: M Characters featured in Chapter: Agent Washington, Tucker, Caboose, South Dakota, Director (mentioned only), Junior (Mentioned only) Pairings: Past Epsilon/Washington, Future Tucker/Washington, Backgrouud Church/Tex Warnings: Flashback of canon character death (York).

AO3 Link: Chapter 2: Dinner Time

Tucker’s eyes were still a bit bugged out. ‘Washington’ was gone in a flash before another word could be said. Caboose’s mouth was stuck in an ‘o’ of surprise.

“Fuck man, I don’t know if this guy is such a good idea…”

“He does not seem so nice.” Caboose agreed. “But he IS the secret agent.”

“Secret—ah.” Tucker translated what Caboose was saying. “Yeah… I guess he’s our only connection to Meta … no matter how far-fetched... He might not even get his foot in the door.”

“He seems like he can stop doors with his foot really easily,” Caboose countered. “Oh! Shelia!” He perked up the waitress coming to their table.

“Hello Caboose. Ready to go, or are you waiting for your friend?”

“No we’re good, Sheila,” Tucker replied.

“Would you like me to run through the daily specials?”

Blood Gulch wasn’t a big town. It took about five phone calls and six text messages to track him down.

It’s Washington. I want to talk.

He wondered if the number was actually—

Chorus Diner, 6 O’Clock.

Guess it was correct.

He’s awfully eager, it’s five thirty already. You shouldn’t go. You know how dangerous he is.

He checked his watch. He should be able to get there with a couple minutes to spare if he walked quickly. Once again he cursed himself for neglecting sunscreen. The sun was still high in the sky. Sweat poured down his face. He wasn’t used to the desert. He was more used to—

You miss the smelly basement in Vancouver, David? Really?

He quickened his pace to get out of the sun. He got to Chorus Ave and glanced around. There was the Chorus Café on one side and Diner on the other. That wasn’t confusing. He headed into the diner and was met with the blissful feeling of air-conditioning. He scanned the booths and didn’t find who he was looking for… he found… someone else.

He froze about to abort. She hadn’t changed that much. Her dipped purple and platinum blonde was gone, replaced with her natural hair colour. It made her look more like her brother. She would hate it if anyone pointed it out though.

She spotted him and waved him over rolling her eyes at his hesitation.

He took a breath and grabbed the seat opposite.

“You aren’t… who I expected.” He said slowly.

“I never am,” She groused, “Hey! Can we get service or what?!”

He winced as the waitress rushed over.

“Sorry ma’am,” She said quickly adjusting her glasses. Her braces gave her a bit of a lisp. Her name tag read ‘Katie’ “I thought you said that you needed more time—”

“And now my…” A dubious glance, “Friend is here.”

“Alright, so what can I get for you both?” She asked forcing a painful customer service smile. Wash pitied her. There was no harder task than taking South’s order when South’s in a bad mood.

“Uh, actually I haven’t seen the—black coffee’s fine.” He couldn’t afford anything else anyway, and he didn’t really want to stick around.

“Cheapskate,” South muttered. She went about ordering a breakfast special that they didn’t run past noon, changing out hash browns for fries and giving poor Katie a look that dared her to talk about their policies.

Katie gave a glance at Wash who shook his head subtly.

“C-Coming right up.”

“So you look…” South was studying him for a moment. “Less fucked up than the last time I saw you.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Considering the last time she had seen him she shot him in the back…

“Are you really going to hold a grudge?” She asked sensing his thoughts. “It was you or me. If you hadn’t been out of your fucking mind you would have done the same. Besides you only got what? Two years? I would have got fucking life.”

“How is North?”

“I wouldn’t know. Not like I can visit,” She shrugged, unbothered.

“Right.”

“So aren’t you breaking parole, meeting a known felon?”

“I think we’re past that question, South.”

Silence fell between them for a moment.

“So you’re working with Meta?” He asked bluntly.

“I wish,” South huffed, “Meta’s making a fucking killing. My operation is a lot smaller scale.

He raised his eyebrow, “Your operation?”

“Uhuh,” She leaned back kicking her shoes up on the corner of the table. She looked him over again. “Interested?”

“This is…” He looked around and notice Katie not far off, “You might want to keep your voice down.”

“Psh, the cops are all assholes around here. They couldn’t find a donut hole in a donut. Blood Gulch is run by the strong. It’s not a secret.”

“So what are you asking me?” He studied her.

“You’re fresh out of the looney bin, can’t have many prospects lined up…and I need…”

“Help?”

She flipped him off, “I’m fine. I don’t need you. I’m doing you a favour because we’re ‘old friends.’”

“You shot me in the back.”

“You got any other options? On the grapevine says you’re looking for Maine. Maine’s not offering. I am.”

She was desperate. She wouldn’t be asking him if she didn’t need him for some reason.

“Who’s your supplier?” He asked slowly.

“I’m the supplier. I got a chemist,” She leaned in lowering her voice. “Remember D.?”

Wash stiffened. “You…”

“He’s not waking up.” There was an uncharacteristic edge in the usually put together man’s voice. “York.” He put hand on his neck, “He’s dead.”

“Then we can’t stay here,” Wash said with little feeling. He tightened the yellow bandana obscuring his face. “We need to get out of here before the cops find us. Come on.”

“Here, this will help,” Delta held out a small green pill.

“I don’t do that.” Wash swallowed. “Put it away.”

Your demeanor says otherwise. It will help to keep your mind clear—”

“No!” He breathed. “My mind is clear.”

“You are Washington, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I understand.”

Delta adjusted his glasses,” The timer you set for the equipment will be going off in twenty seconds.”

“What? Fuck! Come on!”

“Are you even listening space case?”

He drew his eyes up from the black coffee back to South who was cutting up her pancake with gusto.

“You need extra muscle.”

“Or a new customer. You pay for it if you’re taking the product though.”

“I don’t do that.” He said sternly. “Not anymore.

“What DO you do other than bitch about everything?”

He breathed slowly.

“So you’re asking a recovering addict to help you with your drug business? The same guy you shot in the back?”

“Yeah, the great recovering one,” She rolled her eyes, “You haven’t told me to fuck off yet.”

“… I’ll consider it.”

“Ugh, you’re such a little bitch. Fine! Think about it!” She threw up her hands. He downed the rest of his too hot coffee and threw a buck fifty on the counter. He felt bad for not tipping and threw in an extra dollar.

“What you’re not paying after I go to the trouble of setting this up?” South asked.

“You’re big time now, you can afford it,” He quipped leaving the diner.

“I can’t believe you,” Tucker grumbled digging into his food.

“I am totally trustworthy,” Caboose replied sticking out his tongue.

“No, I mean with that Washington guy. He’s going to think we’re fucking amateurs.”

“I am VERY mature, Tucker. You are the one that is not mature.”

“Amateur, not mature!” Tucker groaned in frustration. Why did he even bother? “He’s going to think we can’t handle this.”

And after their meeting he wasn’t really sure if they could handle this—if he could handle this. This sort of thing was so far away from what Tucker usually handled, but on the other hand the drug business kept getting stronger, and the DEA barely seemed to take them seriously anymore. Their city was going to be eaten if something wasn’t done… but by him?

He looked up. Caboose ate his burger in contemplation, which was never a good sign. Tucker took the opportunity to check his phone. 4:48PM so Junior wouldn’t be out of Basketball practice yet. He had visitation for six and he couldn’t be late. Junior’s foster parent had already complained last time he was late.

“He does not trust us,” Caboose said between bites.

“Huh?”

“Agent Washington. He has only just met us. We need to show him what good friend we are,” Caboose explained. “Otherwise he will find other friends.”

Tucker’s mind drifted to the look of disillusion on Washington’s face when he realized Tucker and Caboose were his handlers.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

There were keys and an address in the envelope of possessions the Councillor had handed off to him in his bag of personal effects that hadn’t been there when he was first brought in. The apartment complex wasn’t in the best part of town, but it wasn’t in the worst either. He was tempted to go to a motel instead, but he was also pretty broke.

The Councillor would know that.

He knew this wasn’t about ‘helping the police.’ Until the meeting he had maintained a glimmer of hope. Maybe the BGPD would be able to help him. That he could tell them his story, and maybe get out from under the Director’s thumb. Bring Freelancer to justice. He was stupid to think the Director would send him anywhere that the police might actually be able to effect change. He probably set up the whole scenario. He was good at that.

Wash was tracking Meta for him, not for law enforcement. He was as much a prisoner as he was at the institution. He still belonged to Freelancer.

363.

The apartment was neatly furnished. There was a small black address book on the kitchen counter. Taped under the corner cupboard was a gun. He felt his stomach twist, but wasn’t surprised. He didn’t move it from its hiding place. In the medicine cabinet there was an envelope with his first name neatly scrawled on it. It wasn’t the councillor’s handwriting.

Three words: Get to work.

#Agent Washington #Tucker rvb #Caboose rvb #Tuckington #rvb fanfiction #fanfiction #red vs blue #rvb #m rated #although not for this chapter #blueberry fic

7 notes · View notes

deafeningcreationperson-blog · 6 years

Text

auto insurance reviews

"auto insurance reviews

auto insurance reviews

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://financeandcreditsolutions.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr