Being creative is not enough in this business. You have to become technical. Creative people are born creative…technical people, however, can never be creative. You can’t buy it or study it, you’re born with it. Too many creative people don’t want to learn how to be technical so they become dependent on technical people. Become technical, you can learn that. If you’re creative and technical, you’re unstoppable.
this is pretty much the classic “we got super drunk and now we’re married in vegas” type. enjoy it, my guys, cause i liked it. (i mean, i sort of rushed it, but i still liked it.)
“We get it, it’s Vegas.” You groan, glaring at Tony as he
sits across from you. Inside, you’re rioting against yourself, because why are
you angry at Tony? You’re in a limousine of his paying? He’s taking you and the
others to Vegas?
“Three rules, newbies.” He starts anyway, looking at you
pointedly. “Don’t get sloppy drunk, don’t get married and don’t get sold.”
Across the seats, you exchange a look with Clint across the
aisle and he offers you a thumbs up. What other reaction could there be for
that bomb of a sentence.
“Sold? Married? What are you talking about, Tony?” Steve
starts worriedly and you tug your collar awkwardly, those in the group born in
the modern century avoiding the oldies eyes.
And that’s the last whole memory you have. And here you are,
a bed bigger than gigantic, covered in bodies, and there’s a ring on your
And it’s the big finger, the special finger, the finger that
means that you’ve just ruined your entire life and reputation and it won’t be
long before the media has the scent.
“What the f*ck?” You hiss, sitting up and gagging on your
own breath. And on the vomit that wants to come exploding out your mouth.
Tumbling over bodies and off the bed, your cheek smacks
against the wooden floor and you wheeze, trying to hold yourself together long
enough to reach the bathroom.
“Y/N?” Someone croaks and you make a whining noise while you
crawl. Let them find you. Like a bat.
“Toi-let.” You gag, grunting as you drag yourself up and
over the toilet. Just as you’re about to thank the saints for making it, your
stomach revolts and eighty percent of its contents spew out into the porcelain
bowl. You can tell it’s only eighty because after counting to ten and thinking
it’s over, your stomach goes off again.
“Y/N.” Someone sighs, stumbling up beside you and kneeling.
Gently, they push you out of the way, claiming the bowl for themselves and you
laugh around your rancid mouth.
Feeling all of an inch better, you slither over to the
shower, dragging off your shirt and pants and stepping under the room
temperature spray in your underwear.
“Next.” The person, who you now realize is Bucky, grunts
from outside the curtain and you push it open, gesturing him under the spray
with you. “Thanks.”
A shiver wracks your body and for a moment you think you’ll
lose it all again, bracing yourself, but the feeling fades and you relax
against the wall.
“Dear God.” You whisper, meeting Buckys bloodshot eyes
through the spray and he nods once, silent and in pain, just like you.
“You got one of these?” You ask, five minutes later, holding
your hand out to him and his breath sucks in sharply. You watch him lift his
left hand, entirely metal and bare, and his shoulders slump, his face a mixture
of feelings that you’re too hungover to untangle right now. Until you spot it
on the right and he tenses up all over again.
“We couldn’t have.” He groans and a stab of offense flows
through you. If there was anyone you’d ever be prevailed upon to marry, that
wasn’t a clone of yourself, then it’d probably be Easy Bucky.
“Remember that time Tony told us not to get married?” You
chuckle darkly and Buckys eye twitches, “Good times.”
Someone stumbles into the bathroom, grunting and hacking
their way through an extended vomit session and you have to stifle another dark
laugh. This is all way too darkest
timeline to be real.
“Who’s in the shower?” The person outside whispers, their
voice raspy and unintelligible and you hesitate to answer.
“Y/N and Bucky, genitals covered.” You finally answer, Easy
Bucky having stayed silent and waited for you to choose.
“Can I come in?” They ask softly and you peel back the
curtain, revealing a twitchy, sweaty and pale Wanda.
“Oh, sweetheart.” You coo, helping her out of her clothes
and hustling her under the spray, Bucky watching with concern.
“Thanks.” She coughs, swooshing her mouth out and you rub
her back gently.
“Hands up everybody, let me see them.” Natasha orders, her
face pale but not as worn as the rest of the group and everyone holds up their
hands. Six gold wedding bands glint in the sunlight and collectively, the group
winces at the sight. Clint’s head rests against the table and as the hands
fall, his head lifts.
“I don’t want to get tonights annulment festivities started
to early, but who wants to bet first?” Clint groans, his voice muffled and you
“Pairings, you mean?” Natasha clarifies and understanding
dawns on more than one face around the table.
“Yeah. Like you and me. Or me and Y/N.” Clint explains,
sliding two crumpled five dollar notes from his pocket and dropping them on the
table by his head.
“Myself and Bucky or myself and Wanda.” You offer, dropping
the same amount on the table but throwing it into the middle.
“Ouch.” Clint mumbles from across the table and you blow him
an air kiss, not that he see’s it, but he does catch it. Bucky has pulled a
piece of paper from his pocket and found a pen and is scribbling down names and
“Wanda and Steve or Natasha and Steve.” Bucky pipes up,
still scribbling on his page and your eyes fall closed, a tiredness emptying
into your limbs, as if keeping up this damn head ache racket is expending all
Your head smacks the table and you jerk upright, a whimper
passing your lips and the table stares at you. How long you were asleep, you’re
not sure, but no one has moved so maybe you can get away with it.
“Y/N, what’s your opinion?” Bucky asks, his voice regulated
to be normal but you can tell, you can just tell,
that he knew you were asleep.
“My opinion is shut your hole or I’ll choke you with both
our wedding rings.” You threaten croakily and someone snickers, Buckys smirk
“Everyone shut up and focus, write down everything you remember from last night. It doesn’t have to be
important or a full memory, it could just be a flash of something. Write it
down.” Natasha snaps, cutting through the half silence and sliding paper and
pens to each person at the table. Wanda shifts uncomfortably before leaning
over, clint scrawling over the page without lifting his head. Steve tries to
muster himself but you can see his writing is tiny and illegible, while Bucky
just keeps on writing like he’s unaffected.
us not to get sold, married or sloppy. Clint gave me a thumbs up.
that said Lady Di visited this spot
cute duck, it had a black spot on it’s head and someone shouted Sparrow,
timey flip phone
in a puppy pile of avengers in the middle of the night and accidentally
touching someones boob and definitely someones penis when I tried to go pee
in a puppy pile of avengers at 4am and taking a group shower.
Circling the last full stop, you look up, noting that Steve,
Bucky and Natasha aren’t finished, and that their pages are very full. Maybe
you did it wrong.
Closing your eyes, you rub your forehead hard and wince. It
doesn’t help. All you’ve got is a measly six bullet points and one doesn’t even
count, it was just the beginning.
Dropping the pen, your eyes catch on the gold on your
finger. You’re still wearing it. You flit your gaze from person to person,
checking their fingers and blush when you realize half of them have taken their
Natasha, Clint and Steve keeps pulling his off then sliding
it back on guiltily.
Startling, you realize you’ve been fiddling with it,
absently while you thought. Not cool. Tightening your grip, you prep to rip it
off then hesitate, Bucky scuffles his feet and adjusts himself in his seat
before sighing and leaning back over his page. Twisting the ring, you rub it
with your thumb then shake your head.
Whoever you’re with, whatever has been done, it’s yours now.
You did this and it’s your reminder. And
it’ll be perfect in bars when douchebags try things on you. Twisting it again,
a feeling flashes through your mind and your knee hits the table. It happened.
Buckys head jerks up and his eyes meet yours. But you can’t
look at him, you can’t look at anyone. Shoving back from the table, you ignore
the looks from your accidental ominous words, and storm for the elevators.
A chair scrapes behind you, hurried whispers following you,
then the sound of footsteps.
Bucky slips in the elevator just as the doors close and you
cringe, backing into a corner, his frown coming out in full grumpy force.
“Are you okay?” He asks and the voice echos, a shaking
starting up in your fingers. Oh God, was it him?
The doors slide open and you stumble out, sunlight beaming
down on you from above and your feet go from under you. Your bare knees hit the
pavers with a jarring force and all the air leaves your lungs at once, your
tongue choking you.
“Hey, steady, girl.” Bucky soothes as you wobble and the
words echo again, backed by flashing pink lights and your chest caves in. It
wasn’t him. It wasn’t him.
“I-I-I- There- When-” You stutter, small gasps hiccupping in
and out of your mouth and your lungs feel empty, like they’re deflating inside
A warm palm settles over your lips and you freeze, eyes
going wide as Bucky kneels before you and meets your eyes.
“What colour are my eyes?” He asks softly and you blink
hard, tears filling your eyes. “Look up, what colour is the sky?”
Gently, he removes his hand from your lips, wrapping it
around your waist and you slump against him.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, air flowing easily through your
windpipe now, and your heartbeat steadier.
“I didn’t think kissing you would be smart. But distracting
you with my dreamy eyes?” Bucky boasts gently and you scoff against his
shoulder, the ribbed material of his singlet rubbing your cheek.
“They’re ice. By the way.” You mutter, and he chuckles,
tucking his head against yours for a moment and it’s the closest thing to a
real hug that you’ve ever had with him. “And the sky is warm. A warm blue.”
“A trick, a gamble.” You cut in instantly, warding off the
obvious bad words he was about to spit and replacing them with your own. “You’re
like walking onto a frozen lake and hoping the ice is thick enough to hold you,
but accepting that you deserve it if you fall through. You did walk onto the
“Wow.” He breathes and you lean back, patting his shoulder
“Exactly. That’s obviously why you married me.” You joke,
trying to ignore the pang that strikes through your chest at the words. Bucky
just rolls his eyes, helping you to your feet and checking over your bloody
woop, there it is. what did you think? Ta-da or ta-blah?