#BUT IF THEY USE DIFFERENTLY ABLED LANGUAGE KNE MORE FUCKING TIME I SWEAR

[firefly-fez]

me at 8:00: yeah guys i can’t come out tonight. yeah got another insomnia flare-up, really need an early night. have fun tho!

me at 1am: how are we, as a society ever going to destigmatise disability if we won’t even let ourselves say the goddamned word. maybe the reason you think disability is an offensive term is because disability itself offends you. and of course it does, because it is offensive. The notion that a disabled person did nothing to deserve their disability and cannot achieve success the same way you can because of it offends the idea that you are successful because of your vitues, not your luck. It offends the pride you have in uour work, your success, your wealth and whether you truly earnt it. Disability is offensive only because the innate humanity of a disabled person offends the very propaganda our extractive capitalist society relies on to—

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Running from the Past: Chapter 1

Summary: Reader is a mutant who was experimented on by HYDRA. Due to her unique powers, she escapes without being seen when the Avengers attack the Hydra compound she’s been kept in for the last 5 years of her life. Her mutations and Hydra experiments allow her to blend in with her surroundings (like a chameleon/cuttlefish/octopus) and change her appearance in minor ways (such as hair, skin, and eye color), though the changes are only temporary. She’s now on the run, avoiding both Hydra and SHIELD. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3,361 Warnings: language (swearing), violence/fighting, traumatic past

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Present Day

You groaned, fighting the urge to throw your ancient keyboard and monitor across the room. Instead, you settled for kicking your desk halfheartedly and leaned back in your decrepit, squeaky rolling chair. It wobbled ominously and you almost hoped it would fall apart with you on it; it would give you a reason to leave your tiny home office and avoid your work... or break something out of anger.

It was another dead end. The third one in the last five days. You weren’t used to failing so tremendously at your job. Being a private investigator was usually easy for you. You were literally made to spy on people and you had gotten good at it in your year and a half doing it. Most of the time you followed around rich peoples’ spouses and caught them cheating or tracked down missing people. There was also that one time you helped a kid find their birth parents which had been particularly satisfying.

Tracking even the most suspicious people was easy when you could look like a different person at a moment’s notice. It was made even easier when you could literally blend into the background. You made a good living being a P.I. New York had many rich clients and your reputation was sterling. You made enough to live in an old apartment in Brooklyn; The bathroom, bedroom, and office were tiny, but you liked it better that way. Open spaces had made you uncomfortable since your time at Hydra. You knew all too well how easy it was to hide in the huge cement jungle that was New York City. It was easy to disappear there, but you also knew how easy it was to be found if you knew what to look for.

You spared one last look at the screen and your cork board covered in notes, pictures, and string before angrily turning your computer off and stomping towards the door, grabbing your hoodie and purse as you went. You thought fresh air might help clear your head, and you’d been putting off going to the grocery store for a day or two now. Surviving off of Pop-Tarts and a block of mild cheddar cheese wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. A few choice curse words left your lips as you grabbed your keys, flicked off the lights, and locked the door behind you. You grumbled the entire way down the stairs, muttering about “bullshit marriages” and “unreliable fucking sources.” All 8 floors. Swearing. You would have also added in some stomping for good measure, but the man two floors down in 6B had the hearing of a bat and the temper of a bull... and, also, a very large, very illegal shotgun. You would have turned him in a long time ago, but he was a surprisingly good source of information. Also, you didn’t want to deal with the police any more than necessary.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and pulled your hoodie on, then paused for a moment. After a brief scan of the area, you deemed it safe. You focused your attention on your powers and saw your hair slowly change from it’s usual (Y/H/C) to a deep red. Your skin tone shifted, too. You blinked rapidly as your irises changed, your corneas prickling uncomfortably. You checked your reflection in the glass of the doorway. Satisfied no one would recognize you easily, you left the apartment complex and made your way towards the nearest neighborhood grocery store.

You glared up at the sky. You’d lost track of time, and it was starting to get dark out. You walked swiftly, but let your thoughts wander. You’d never hit such a wall with a case before. Every time you got a new lead, it was as though all the evidence surrounding it vanished into thin air. Someone was trying very hard to hide something or someone. You thought about what you knew.

Your clients were wealthy. They hired you to look for their son who vanished from their home without a trace two weeks ago. They wouldn’t go to the police- they were worried about the scandal it would cause; the heir to the business running away tended to ruin stocks, you supposed. The father was pissed, but the mother was distraught. You had already checked into their alibis; they were air-tight. You had visited their home. Your beat up yellow ‘64 Mustang had looked hilariously out of place on their driveway. You checked out the son’s room. Nothing had been out of place as far as you could tell. According to the parents, they didn’t go in his room enough to know if anything was missing. There were no signs of a struggle. It had been a huge waste of your time. The son was 25. He was some sort of super genius with computers and also had a good mind for business. You had checked out a few rival companies, but that had also turned up nothing. He had a surprising lack of friends. His parents said he would have business associates over sometimes, but when you went back to your place to look up the names they gave you, you couldn’t find anything on them. In fact,  you couldn’t find anyone with descriptions matching the names the parents had given you. You knew something was wrong, but you couldn’t find any leads to help you crack the case. You were half tempted to tell your clients their son simply left, but you knew when something smelled fishy and this case stunk like raw sewage.

You turned the corner and spotted the sign of the local grocery store. Your shoulders relaxed slightly as you stepped through the sliding double doors and into the tiny store. The cashier looked up from her phone long enough to bid you welcome, not recognizing you even though you came in about twice a week. You perused the aisles absentmindedly, occasionally picking up items and throwing them into your basket. Once you were satisfied with your haul and the handles of your basket creaked threateningly, you went up to the cashier. A man in a crisp black suit was being rung up in front of you, but you were too engrossed in your thoughts of the case to notice his utilitarian haircut, or the suspect bulge in his jacket over his hip. The cashier didn’t notice either and rang him up and halfheartedly wished him a good night. As you stepped forward, you pulled a couple reusable bags out of your purse and handed them silently to the cashier.

“Thanks, was just about to ask,” she said, throwing you a small smile.

“No problem,” you said quietly. She looked up at you and furrowed her brows. She studied your face for a moment.

“Hey, you got a sister around here or something?” she asked, ringing up items as she spoke.  “You look familiar.”

You thought about telling the truth- that you didn’t- but realized it would be more convincing and a better cover if you just agreed.

“Yeah, she lives two blocks away at North Gate Gardens,” you say with a small smile.

“Oh, I think I remember her! That makes sense,” she said, placing your last items in the bags. You almost breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’ll be $86.42.” she said, putting the bags up on the counter for you to take after you finish paying. You pulled out the correct amount of cash and change- you didn’t pay with card for anything. It made your life hard sometimes. She took the cash and change with a smile. “Have a good night,” she said, returning to her phone as soon as you were out the door.

It was good and truly dark now. You groaned. You’d bought too many things, and it was a long walk back followed by 8 flights of narrow, steep stairs. You set a brisk pace, not wanting to get caught out by any unsavory characters. It was still relatively early and New York was the city that never sleeps, but you were a P.I. You knew what happened in the city when the sun went down.

You were about halfway back to your apartment when you felt it.

A presence.

You fought the urge to look behind you. If they were following you, it’d tip them off immediately that you knew they were there and with only grocery bags and a couple of keys to defend yourself, you didn’t like your chances.

I should have just taken the car, you thought to yourself bitterly. But you knew it would have been pointless. Parking was nearly impossible to find in your neighborhood. You would have just wasted gas. Your mind raced. Could it be Hydra? No, they’d think you were dead. SHIELD? Or whatever they went by nowadays? No, they shouldn’t even know you exist. If they did, they would also think you were dead, killed in the Hydra compound with all the other test subjects. Your heart thudded in your chest. The person following you was keeping a set distance. They didn’t keep walking when you stopped at the crosswalk- they wanted to stay out of sight. You briefly hoped it was a drunkard, making his way back to his house or into a cozy alley for the night, but the lack of catcalling or general drunken tomfoolery made you realize that wasn’t an option.

Still, whoever was following you shouldn’t have been able to recognize you. You made sure you never looked the same when you left the building- maybe that was what had tipped them off? That didn’t make any sense, though.

Your apartment complex was in sight now and you looked up at the window of your room that faced the street. Your blood ran cold. The light was on. The light that you specifically turned off whenever you left to save money. The one you never left on when you’re not home. The one you turned off before you walked to the store. Your senses and mind kicked into overdrive, all doubts about whether or not you were being followed thrown to the wayside. You knew the building’s layout like the back of your hand- you were paranoid enough to memorize the layout of any building you frequented. It was definitely your room. You had half a mind to call the police, but thought better of it. That would only get you into more trouble. You didn’t trust cops, and you weren’t technically in the U.S. legally.

You stared at the walk signal. You pretended to rummage around for your phone, grabbing your car keys out of your purse instead. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the cross traffic’s light turn yellow, then red. A half second later the walk signal turned and you took off running, dropping your bags at your feet. Your feet ate up the pavement as you ran. You didn’t look it, but you were actually pretty quick.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath. You could hear your stalker running after you, feet thudding on the pavement. The person sounded huge, but you didn’t dare turn around to find out. You glanced down the cross street as you ran and were horrified to see a nondescript black SUV make its way out of a parking garage at a ludicrous speed, tires screeching angrily. You willed yourself to go faster. Your car was parked a little over half a block down, just past your apartment building. To your dismay, you saw even more men in black suits come thundering down the stairs, guns drawn and pointed directly at you.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” you said, turning your attention back to what was in front of you and ran for your life as fast as you could. Your lungs were burning, and even as fast as you were, you heard the person behind you gaining. You saw your car ahead, once bright yellow paint faded and peeling. It was parallel parked on the shoulder. Not the most inconspicuous getaway car, but fast. And even though it didn’t look like it on the outside, you kept it nice. You pulled out your keys and for once cursed its old age- no power locks to make this go faster. You heard shouting behind you, and glass shattered as the men in your apartment building began shooting in your direction through the lobby’s glass. You were running to the driver’s side when the black SUV came out of nowhere, ramming it, shoving it up on the sidewalk. If you had been even a little bit closer or on the driver’s side you would have been sent flying or been crushed between the two cars. You barely had time to process this before the person who had been following you slammed into you from behind. You nearly went flying with a breathtaking force as the solid mass of muscle hit you but the person grabbed your arms, hauling you back into their grip. You heard the doors of the SUV open. Your mind was screaming at you to run. You flailed against the man’s grip, but to no avail; it was as though you were in a vice.

“Wanda! Sam! We need cover, now!” came the voice behind you. To your horror, everything around you went red and for a second you thought you’d been shot, but then it undulated and moved and you realized it wasn’t a bloody haze, but some sort of energy. Your head whipped around to the sounds of guns being fired right next to you and to your amazement, the bullets stopped upon hitting the weird red mist. You heard something that sounded almost like a jet from above you and looked up to see a large bird. No, wait, that wasn’t right. It was dark, but you were able to make out the shape of a man... but he had wings. The Falcon? The Falcon was here? That means... You turned your head as far as it would go to look at the man behind you. The air in your lungs left with a hiss.

Steve Rogers. Captain America.

The red mist meant Wanda Maximoff was around somewhere, too. The Scarlet Witch. You struggled even harder. You knew what SHIELD really was. You knew its agents couldn’t be trusted. Not even the great Captain America was above reprimand nowadays. After Hydra had nearly taken over the world using SHIELD a few years back, you didn’t trust them. He spared a confused look at your struggling before looking around and assessing the situation.

“I think it’s her, but I can’t be 100% sure,” he said into the comms.

The men next to you banged on the energy barrier, but it didn’t budge. They took turns shooting at it, but it had no effect.

Someone must have responded to him because he spoke again a moment later. “They obviously want her for something- you should have seen her reaction when she saw her apartment was compromised. She’s not safe here, either way.”

Another pause.

“Got it. Bucky, ready for extraction?” he said into the comms. You were too preoccupied trying to get away to truly take in what he was saying. You didn’t know exactly what your plan was, but step A was getting away from the super soldier. You’d rather take your chances with the guys in nice suits toting large guns than Captain Fucking America. You paused your struggling when you heard the sound of an engine getting closer. 

The Captain looked down at you and gave you what you assumed he thought was a reassuring smile. You glared at him in response, but he didn’t notice. He was already looking back over his shoulder.

“Hold on,” he said. You waited for him to explain further, but he didn’t have to. In fact, it became very clear very quickly what he meant. “Now, Wanda!” he said, throwing you on the back of a speeding motorbike the moment part of the red barrier disappeared. Your instincts kicked in and you grabbed onto the whatever was in front of you- in this case, a person. A man, in fact. A very large one. With... a metal arm. James Buchanan Barnes. The motorcycle picked up speed the second you were on, racing off the sidewalk and into the road once more. If you weren’t going at least 60 miles per hour down busy New York streets, weaving in and out of cars, you would have thrown yourself off rather than be with the Winter Soldier a moment longer. You had heard of his earlier exploits and had seen the most notable ones on the news.

You heard him yell something back to you, but you couldn’t hear anything over the wind whipping past you. He seemed to realize this because he grabbed one of your arms and quickly wrapped it around his waist. You removed it immediately. He yelled back to you again, louder this time.

“Hold on- being followed- tight maneuvers-” you managed to catch a few words and got the gist of it. They were following you and he’d have to pull some fancy moves to lose them. You turned around carefully, thighs gripping the leather seat. Sure enough, there were three black SUVs following you. You groaned as another two turned up the street you were on, following closely behind the first three. For such large cars, they wove in and out of the traffic with ease. To your horror, a few men stuck their torsos out of the SUVs’ windows and pointed huge guns at you. You ignored everything your mind was telling you and wrapped your arms around his waist.

“Go, go, go!” You screamed. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but he drove faster anyway and turned the corner at a speed you didn’t think possible. You heard bullets rip through the air and you swore you could feel them miss by inches. He put his metal arm out against the ground and sparks flew as he kept the bike from going over sideways completely. You would have screamed, but your mind was telling you two things and two things only: Oh god, oh god, we’re all gonna die and hold on for dear life. Nowhere in your head was there processing power for “screaming.”

The city passed by in a blur. A horrifying, bullet-filled blur. The Soldier pulled some truly amazing maneuvers on the bike. You nearly passed out when he finally lost your pursuers by jumping the bike over a draw bridge that was being raised slowly. You’d looked down into the murky waters a hundred feet below and very nearly lost your lunch. The bike hit the opposite side of the bridge heavily, but kept on speeding.

You realized you were headed north out of the city. You began panicking again. Where was he taking you? What did they want from you? What did those men in suits want from you? You had so many questions and no answers to them.

You felt his chest rumble a couple times; He was speaking to the others over the comms. You looked out at the scenery around you. The darkness made it hard to tell, but you knew you were going fast. Whatever you could see whipped by in a blur. You knew you were stuck on the bike until he stopped. If you tried to get off or messed with the controls, causing him to crash, you were sure you’d turn into a lovely red smear on the road. You kept your body as far away from him as you could now that he was done with his dangerous maneuvers.

You had a plan.

Your butt was nearly completely numb when he finally turned off the highway and turned onto an inconspicuous road. He slowed down marginally, but still kept it too fast for you to risk jumping off. The road seemed to stretch on forever, but you felt him shift as he reached for a button on the center of the bike and pressed it. You craned your neck around his broad shoulders and gasped. About three hundred feet ahead the ground was giving way. The road was actually a monstrously giant ramp that led down into the darkness. As you got closer, the lights on the side of the secret tunnel ahead of you turned on, bathing everything in a cold, fluorescent glow. Your stomach jolted at the sudden change in angle as the Soldier drove down the ramp and into the hole. The tunnel was enormous. The walls changed from stone to metal and concrete. You turned around and watched the ramp begin to rise again, once again taking its place as a false road, and your stomach filled with dread. There was no escaping that way now. He drove further down underground; your ears had almost begun popping when you leveled out. He navigated the bike into the corner of a huge underground room and slowed down to almost a crawl. You looked around. A couple of undeniably fancy cars and a sleek jet were in the huge room. You now understood why the tunnel had been so large- they had to fly a jet out of it. The bike coming to a stop pulled you back down to planet earth. You stopped gawking at the shiny marvels of engineering and smoothly grabbed the gun holstered to his thigh that you had noticed on the drive out, and hopped off of the bike, out of his reach.

He looked back at you in surprise as you pointed the gun straight at his head.

“Y/N?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“How do you know my name, Soldat?” you asked, eyeing him warily. Something about his face seemed familiar and your gun lowered a fraction, but you chalked it up to seeing him plastered all over the news off and on for years. You raised it again, taking a half step back, further out of his reach.

He cringed slightly at your use of the name he was called when he was The Asset. “You mean... you don’t remember?”

Chapter 2

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