A Refreshing Start (Part Five)

Description: Bucky x Reader. The reader, a trained assassin, decides that she no longer wants to be a killer and that a new start is in order with help from the most unlikely places.
Words: 1,472
Warnings: None
Author’s Note: AHHHH. I’m loving this series. I’ve still got a plan up to at least part 10 so actually we’re only really getting into the juicy bit now ;)

Catch up here: Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Tagging: @thinkwritexpress @winchester-with-wings @castihelloboys @starkingdom @heismyhunter @kenzie-110101 @maha-pambata-is-my-patronus @bookshido @jodyri @adriellej @mora-firestone @pickylittlebitch @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @nobodylastname @the-fastest-mutant-sith @colouredwater @the-renaissance @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic

“I know you,” Steve said, his face hardening, eyes flicking back to Bucky in confusion. “You’re the Hydra assassin.”

“Not anymore,” you said quietly. You glanced to Bucky who gave you an encouraging nod. “I was never particularly a fan, but also never particularly on their side.“

"Tell me why I shouldn’t turn you in here and now.”

“Steve, Y/N is-” Bucky interpreted.

“I want to hear it from Y/N.”

Bucky sat back in his chair in defeat, throwing you an apologetic look. It wasn’t the end of the world, you’d handled worse situations but you’d been quite enjoying your date evening. You took a large sip of wine as Steve sat down in the empty seat next to Bucky, his eyes never once leaving you. He was bigger up close that was for sure, and you weren’t a fan of how he scrutinised your movements… Yet there had to be a reason Bucky trusted him so much.

You knew you could lie (and be damn convincing at it) but what was the point? With how much you’d divulged to Bucky in the past little while, anything you didn’t say would be filled in later anyway. You’d read a fair few files on Steve Rogers before now, you supposed it’d only be fair to level the playing field a little.

“I was a gun for hire, a specialised one. Hydra hired me the last time we met, but equally so have governments and even SHIELD. A job is a job… but I’ve given it up.” You looked around, making sure no one else was listening in on your conversation. “I make coffee now.”

“Coffee?” Steve said skeptically. You never knew the beverage could be spoken of in such a passive aggressive tone.

“Yes. Coffee.”

Steve looked to Bucky whose eyes were fixed on you. He looked as nervous as you felt and you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile. He returned it briefly but jumped as he realised his friend was clearly expecting a comment judging by the intense look.

“Hey, it’s good coffee,” Bucky said simply throwing you a wink. Steve noticed it but chose not to comment on that.

“Forgive me, but that’s hard to believe…” Steve trailed off, looking between the pair of you cautiously.

“Says the man who spent how long as a frozen mammoth?” you countered.

Bucky smirked and you felt a small inkling of pride. Sassing his best friend was going to go one of two ways and you were pleased it was a positive reaction. It meant a lot that he was sticking up for you, even if it was only subtly. Just a couple of brief comments was more loyalty than you’d seen in years.

“And you’re okay with this?” Steve said, uncertainty still in his voice as he turned to Bucky.

“Yeah, it took me a little while but yeah, I’ve not seen any reason yet to doubt what Y/N’s said.”

“Then I guess that’s good enough for me for now,” Steve said, pulling a tight smile. “You give me one reason though.”

“I won’t hurt you, Bucky or anyone - scout’s honour.”

Steve nodded slowly, settling back into his chair as he cast another brief look to his friend.  "Look, I came for a quick take away meal, came here a lot when I first woke up. They package it up normally but I’ll ask for a plate while you start from the beginning and explain. Deal?“


So you did - with some details softened a touch for his patriotic ears. He knew Bucky’s and the infamous Black Widow’s colourful histories so you were sure he could fill in any blanks you’d skirted around. You briefly told him how you came to be in that line of work and you told him what lead you to quit, the bits in between were irrelevant. You spoke of the coffee shop and your apartment above it that you basically had to yourself thanks to your absent roommate. Bucky chipped in sometimes with little details he remembered you mentioning about your new work and the conversation drifted on from there.

Steve began to relax, telling you of a mission that somehow obscurely related to coffee by the end and you were all laughing together. It was only when a waiter came over, visibly nervous to interrupt that you all realised the time. The place was meant to close at 11 and that time had gone by about 20 minutes ago.

The waiter placed the bill on the table apologising before he walked off to allow you to pay.

"I’ll hand it to you, you don’t seem like a bad person,” Steve said, looking from you to Bucky with smile.

“Thanks?” You said with a chuckle. You dug through your purse and found enough to cover your share of money to put on the little silver dish and a little extra tip as an apology for the overtime. You placed it down, only for Steve to suddenly burst into life.

“Oh no, Y/N it’s on me,” Steve said, tipping it off so it landed in front of you and grabbing his wallet. He leafed through, finding enough to cover all three of you and put it down on the tray as you looked at your money, confused. “I disturbed your night. Keep it for the next time you two go out.”

You felt your cheeks flush and you hoped that it was dark enough that no one would see. It was an embarrassing reaction that didn’t want anyone to see and as you looked to Bucky you realised he had definitely noticed, his gaze fixed on you with a slight smirk. Asshole.

“Thank you,” you said grabbing your money back with a sheepish smile, “Despite the initial surprise it’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Steve nodded, standing up and tucking his chair in.

“How’d you get here? D'you need a lift?” Bucky said, moving to stand up. You followed his lead and gathered your bag and cardigan as Steve spoke.

“Nah, we’re only 4 blocks from the tower, I ran here. I’ll walk back though, nice to stretch my legs.”

“Of course you did,” Bucky scoffed, “See you at the tower then, just need to drop Y/N back.”

Steve nodded giving the pair of you a polite nod before he wandered off. You watched him go and turned to Bucky, who was just shrugging on a jacket. Exchanging a few last thank you’s with the waiter as he wiped down a table, you made your way back to Bucky’s loaned car.

“Sorry it wasn’t the low key, normal evening I planned, doll,” he said, opening the door for you to get in.

“I seem to be having a lot of that kind of luck lately,” you said with a laugh as you got in.

Bucky smiled and nodded, closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side to get in. He opened the door and slid in, switching the car on and he did so. It purred into life and you sighed contently as you felt the engine rumble through you. You wondered if he was going to say anything as he began to drive so chose to break the silence yourself instead.

“I honestly thought to start with he was going to drag me outside and try to kill me.”

“Try to?”

“Well no one’s succeeded yet,” you shrugged, “Must admit I’d always hoped my first chat with the great Captain America would be on slightly different circumstances.”

“He’s not all that perfect…” Bucky started. You detected a slight hint of jealousy in his snappy reply but his face fell minutely as he spoke again. “Well, I know he’s better than me after all I’ve done, better than I could ever be now, but I still like to think back to when he was a weedy little punk.”

“You’re not a bad guy,” you said quickly. You knew he hated his Winter Soldier self. You paused, deciding on your tact and spoke again with a dark kind of optimism, “Look, at least you were brainwashed to do what you did, mine was entirely optional. Shit happens.”

Bucky grimaced and you could see he didn’t quite know whether to laugh at the attempt to make him feel better or focus on the later phrase. You liked keeping him on his toes like that.

“But you’ve made a change.”

“And so have you,” you reminded him with a small smile, “Plus you’ve been nicer to me than anyone else in town. Thanks for tonight, minus the fearing for my safety it was lovely.”

“I’m glad,” Bucky replied. He paused, raising an eyebrow and glancing at you, “Hopefully we could do the same again sometime? Minus the fearing for your safety, of course.”

“Yeah,” You laughed, “That’d be great.”

the straight walk home (preview)

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez….

September 5, 1875

The sun slipped down in front of The Walrus Gang as they raced further across the plains.

Blinded by the fierce light and the sand kicked up by their horses, the gang followed the trail left by their traitor as best they could. Although none of them had any lingering doubts as to where the traitor was headed.

Keep reading

At work today when it was quiet, we got onto the discussion of “what is the scariest thing that’s ever happened to you” and honestly, every single story, from every single girl working, was something to do with a man acting out of line. Someone who wouldn’t back off on a night out. An aggressive ex boyfriend. Someone who followed them home, etc. And that’s just so fucked up. It’s so fucked up. Every single one of us.
And what was even more fucked up, was the fact that half the stories that were told, had been twisted and altered so that they were humorous. We turned the stories into anecdotes, jokes, because this kind of thing is so common, and it’s accepted as the norm, even though we were very open about how scared we were at the time.
I can’t stop thinking about it.

anonymous asked:

Oh! What about a Magical Girl AU?

Okay so real talk some of my favourite shows are magical girl shows. Madoka Magica is my all time fave, but Revolutionary Girl Utena and Yuri Kuma Arashi are both up there as well. So when I saw this prompt I knew I had to do it.

That said, I got a bit overzealous? This one clocks in at 14,200 words (approximately). As for pairings: none! That said, you can easily interpret it as SatoKayo, KenSato, HiroKayo or YashiSato! (Or all of them!)

Keep reading

“Someone just gave me a dollar cus I’m outside with a torn shirt”

It’s hard, sometimes, so unbearably hard for Ryan to stay.

There are days and weeks and months when he doesn’t think about it, where this crew is everything he needs, everything he could ever want, and nothing on earth could tear him away. But then there are those moments, terrifying and bleak and inescapable in a way the rest of the crew will never really understand. 

It’s a paranoia that seeps through, ideas he can’t stop himself from imagining. The way he thinks about the ease with which he could snap Gavin’s neck, soft and vulnerable, already tucked underneath his arm while the movie plays, explosions more than loud enough to cover any sound. The way the ever growing bounty on Geoff’s head is burnt into his brain, not temptation so much as reminder, this wanted man who doesn’t even stop to think about the danger of falling asleep in Ryan’s presence. About how easy it would be to mess with the explosives Michael gets him to hold, how no one would ever suspect anything but a faulty timer, a tragic accident. How Jack has him check her parachute when she doesn’t have time, blind faith that he would never let her fall. The unprotected slope of Jeremy’s back, walking ahead down the tunnel, utterly unconcerned by the loaded gun Ryan carries, unaware of the way his spine is in the sightline even with the gloom.

They’re not fantasies, there is no secret wish to hurt his crew, this mismatched collection of disturbing affection, it’s just the deep unshakable knowledge that he could. That nothing and no one could stop him if he were so inclined, not with how unsuspecting they are, how trusting.

They’ve forgotten, he knows, inexplicably forgotten all the ways that they are different, the ways he is not the same. This pack of junkyard dogs, who are scrappy survivors, downright vicious when they want to be, but not savage. Feral, maybe, but not wild like Ryan is wild, the wolf they have welcomed into their midst without truely understanding what that means. What he is. What he will always be. They’ve let time and familiarity blind them, dangerously desensitised by fondness, like they can no longer see his ruin. 

It’s not like it’s easy to miss. It’s not like outsiders don’t notice immediately. Maybe that sense of unknown dread, bone-deep wrongness setting off primitive alarm, is what has the Vagabond’s reputation spreading as far and wide and feared as it is. There’s something heavy and inescapable in being a real life bad example, being the one thing every man, woman and child is taught to avoid. To be known as pain, as violence, as death, to be inevitable betrayal before you even open your mouth. A relationship that ends in bloodshed before it even starts. The kind of stain that never washes out. 

Ryan has never really resented that part of himself before - he made his choices after all, created the Vagabond and relished in his rise; he’s only got himself to blame, but all of a sudden it feels like it has cost him something. Like all the guilt he refuses to feel has reformed into a different kind of punishment, an awareness that he cannot keep the best thing that has ever happened to him, that he’ll have to leave before this, too, is tarnished. Maybe he can play lost pet for a time but the wilderness in his blood is always calling, the lonely cry of the hunt keeping him up at night, relentlessly pulling him back no matter how hard he tries to resist. Ryan knows, in those moments, that this can’t last. That no matter how much he wants to stay eventually he’ll have to break away again and leave them all behind.

Except, whenever it comes up, whenever it’s all too much and Ryan is just secretly working out what he has to pack before he leaves, his crew goes and smacks him over the head with their feelings on the matter.

Those are the days when Gavin will look up at him, smiling so soft and sweet and terrifyingly harmless that it takes Ryan a second too long to recognise the blade pressing up between his ribs, or into the hollow of his throat or the base of his spine, freezing with a startling shot of adrenaline even as Gavin pulls back, eyes alight with wicked mischief as he laughs and skitters away, singing gotcha over his shoulder like catching the Vagabond unaware is a petty party trick.

When Geoff will take one look at Ryan and send him away on a long job, or pull him off what he was doing and keep him close to base instead. It’s incredibly frustrating; Geoff offers no explanation or remorse and the orders rarely align with what Ryan wants to be doing, but one way or another they always seem to be just the thing to make him shake off the restless jitters.

When Michael drags Ryan out to practise close combat and drops him to the ground over and over, defies Ryan’s greater size and usual physical dominance in a hurricane of fists and flashing teeth. The way he laughs and jeers and riles Ryan into true annoyance, into drawing blood, and still sends him crashing down as often as not, an oddly comforting display of bloody competence. 

When Ryan turns that cold detached gaze on Jack and finds her already looking back, eyes narrowed and calculating, thoughtful. A simple look that sends the same flare of shocking panicked fear through him as he gets when she lets a jet plummet from the air, laughing wild and reckless, ruthlessly jolting Ryan back into himself.

When Jeremy invites himself along on one of Ryan’s less savoury jobs, matches him hit for hit, threat for threat, nudges Ryan away and takes over when things get truly nasty. The way he leans into Ryan’s side and looks for critique when it’s over, as calm and friendly as ever, like this darkness isn’t the thing that defines them.  

This is Ryan’s crew. His pack of dogs demonstrating just how clearly they hear the call of the wild, how violently capable they are of keeping up. The FAHC, who fight tooth and nail and no regrets, who’ve dug in their claws and don’t plan on letting go, who’d go toe to toe with a wolf without an ounce of fear just to prove he’s already home.

It’s unspeakably hard, sometimes, for Ryan to stay, but leaving would be so much worse.

Okay, but imagine this.

Right at the very last battle of the Vytal festival, Scarlet made it in for the final round, and it’s a big battle royale.

Sun’s there too.

Every contestant prepares, but Sun just sits down as soon as the fight starts, apparently giving up.

Moments later, Scarlet lets out a pulse of energy, dropping everyone who was standing to the ground.

They try to get up but can only crawl, none in actual fighting condition.

Sun knew this was coming.

He knew there’s no stopping Scarlet’s semblance, his ultimate trump card.

He made their legs forget they were legs.


Gale Hawthorne Appreciation Week: Day Three (Katniss)

“What a pair we were—fatherless, frightened, but fiercely committed, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave.”

I’m just going to imagine there was a scene when the family was gently taking Stan through his memories and helping him remember, and they get to the part where he stopped Bill.

And they explain how brave and daring he was, but none of them know exactly what happened in Stan’s mind, so they don’t know the conversation he had with Bill.

But Stan does, and he smiles when he starts to remember, that same resigned but happy smile right before the flames consumed him, and he repeats, without really considering it all,

“Heh. Guess I was good for something after all.”

Everyone pauses and looks at him, so very concerned, and Stan blinks, confused because he know that’s how it happened - at least, he thinks he knows.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a six-fingered grip that’s slowly starting to become familiar once more, and it turns him towards a face that he recognizes as his own but the only name he can put to it is Ford.

Ford says, very carefully, like he’s holding something back a whole whirlwind of emotion, “Don’t. Say that, Stanley. Don’t ever THINK that. You didn’t need to sacrifice yourself to become good. You were already good, just the way you are.”

Mabel and Dipper nod emphatically, curling closer to him. Soos lays his head on Stan’s.

Stan frowns, puzzled. “But that’s how I remember it,” he insists, quietly.

Ford smiles at him, and it’s a sad smile, but with an edge of hope.

“Well, your memory’s a little wrong in some ways,” he tells Stan firmly, winding an arm around his shoulders, tugging him near because he’s not ready to relinquish what he so nearly lost, not even to his brother’s own inner demons. “But don’t worry. We’ll help you fix that. We are your family, after all.”

And Stan, while he’s not quite sure of anything at the moment, feels positive that that’s true.

the art entitled “don’t be that guy, rolo” AKA “it’s a small universe after all” AKA “ridiculous aliens and their long-suffering human boyfriends”

i’m too cool for backgrounds