#marvelfanfic

this sparkle icon. At first i wanted to give this company the benefit of the doubt, maybe they used the sparkle because the companies name is glimmer, like shiny so a sparkle would make sense but many many companies are also using the same type of sparkle for ai generated content, for example googles gemini ai

at first i thought this was a pure coincidence due to the fact that when you click on it it brings you to a page where you can purchase in app currency

so i thought “Okay great! maybe this isn’t ai and i’m just paranoid…that was until i started reading the fic it stated to show the text line by line instead of all at once like a normal ebook “maybe this is a stylistic choice!” i say naively, then i scrolled down to the first questions that would start the “choose your own adventure” part of the story when i saw this

This is only possible in a few ways an example of this would be a computer program that had built in responses to many different questions that weren’t originally asked(think video games that have you type in your name they might have the pronunciation of a few names but not all), another is ai both conversational (like siri) and generative (like gemini and chatgpt) so i paused and went to check their About me and yup it was EXACTLY what i suspected

Glimmerfics uses Generative ai to “write” your fanfics for you THIS IS A TRAP THEY ARE USING YOU TO SCRAPE YOUR WRITINGS FOR THEIR AI MODLES! In their about me they talk about how they are aware of the “concerns people have about ai” and they “don’t think machines can replace real artist but they want to use ai to help authors tell a story” they even talk about the environmental concerns so as a “partial measure”they are purchasing carbon offsets

(ie reforestation and renewable energy and the likes) from July 2025 through October 2025 to try and cover “their best estimate of their carbon footprint”

This in my opinion is about the same as putting a numbing gel on a cavity it may help to ease the pain but problem is still there, reforestation only works if you give the forests time to heal trees take YEARS to grow to a fertilizing state where they can pollinate and regrow and young trees are especially vulnerable to disease and fungus which have wiped out entire forests before, and what happens to land with no plants? it becomes extremely unstable with no growth to keep the dirt rooted down erosion can become rapid leading to devastating consequences not only for animals and plants but to any humans that maybe living nearby. Buying carbon offsets isn’t going to do shit and much like a cavity the only thing you can do to combat the affects of generative ai is to stop the problem at its source unfortunately for ai it is the problem, it is one of the many many reasons as to why climate change has seen such a rapid uptick. Please please i beg of you to block any and all blogs you see that are using or promoting glimmerfics THEY WILL STEAL YOUR WRITINGS THEY WILL STEAL YOUR WORK COMPANIES LIKE THIS LIE ALL THE TIME TO SCRAPE AI FOR THEIR MODLES

The bathroom light is soft, and you’ve spread an old towel over the floor. Bucky sits cross-legged on it, broad shoulders hunched a little like he’s still half-convinced he’s doing something wrong. His vibranium hand rests light on his knee, fingers tapping gently while you run a comb through his dark hair.

“Sure you trust me with the scissors?” you tease, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

He looks up at you in the mirror, a shy, lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Only you. Everyone else… they look at my hands or like I’m gonna break something. You just… see me.”

You work slow, trimming the longer strands at the nape of his neck, brushing stray hairs off his shoulders every few snips. Every time your fingers brush the shell of his ear or the edge of his jaw, he leans into it, almost imperceptibly. When you spin him gently to check the sides, he catches your wrist, pressing a warm kiss to your pulse point. “You’re good at this. Real gentle.”

“Only for you, Barnes.”

It had been four months since the Sokovian Accords tore the Avengers apart. Four months since the world split in two, and so did your heart. The ones who stood by Steve were now fugitives, scattered and hunted like ghosts. Among them was Natasha.

After helping Cap and Bucky escape, Natasha turned her back on Tony’s side and vanished. Just like that—no goodbyes, no promises. She left everything behind, including you.

You had stood for the Accords. You believed in accountability, in protecting civilians better than the Avengers ever had before. It created a quiet tension between you and Natasha, but love had always been stronger until it wasn’t.

You’d been together for over a year. She was your anchor, your constant, the one person who saw every part of you and never flinched. You were each other’s shelter in the chaos. There were hard days, sure, but never once did you think she’d leave without a word.

And yet, she did.

She disappeared into the shadows, leaving you behind with nothing but silence and a thousand unanswered questions. No day went by without thinking about her. Natasha haunted your thoughts like a ghost. The not knowing was the worst part. Where is she? Is she okay? You tried to move on. Really, you did. But how do you move on from losing the Woman you loved? And your team? They were your home, your family and your purpose. And now you are trying to survive alone.

You wanted to find Natasha, needing closure. Or was it closure? Maybe you wanted to hear her voice or see her face again. Finding her wasn’t easy. Tracking down the most skilled spy in the world never would be. But you had your own talents, and eventually—after weeks of careful digging, quiet inquiries, and late-night intel—you found something. A whisper of a lead that brought you to a trailer tucked away in the remote stillness of Norway. It’s late evening and you are standing in front of it, pondering if you should do the next step or just return and pretend you were never there. You take a deep breath, the cold winter air hitting your lungs and before thinking twice you knock on the door.

Natashas senses sharpen as a soft knock on the door interrupts her while she is sitting at her laptop and watching a movie. She grabs her nearby gun and moves quietly towards her door.

“Nat, Its me.”

You speak through the door after getting no answer. A pause - then you heard a soft click and the door creaked open, just enough to see her face, partially obscured by the shadow inside. Her red hair falls messily over her shoulders. Your heart aches even more standing right in front of her.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

she said, her voice soft but laced with conflict—like she’d rehearsed saying that and still didn’t believe it.

You replied in a shaky voice:

“I know… but I had to see you. I couldn’t just pretend like you just disappeared.”

Her fingers tightened around the doorframe and her jaw clenched.

“Come in. You are freezing.”

She stepped back, and you entered her trailer with a slight hesitation. The warmth inside felt unfamiliar. You crossed your arms, unsure of what to say, while she leaned against the kitchen table. A heavy silence settled between you, until she finally spoke in a voice barely above a whisper:

“I didn’t want to leave you like that.”

But you did,” you said, the hurt breaking through your voice before you could stop it. “You walked away without a word. You left me without an explanation.”

“I know,” she breathed, eyes closing briefly as if the weight of your pain added to the burden she already carried. “I thought I was doing the right thing—staying off the grid, cutting all ties. I thought I was protecting you.”

You laughed under your breath, bitter and broken. “From what? The world? Or from yourself?”

She looked at you then, really looked—guilt swimming in her eyes, but something else too. Something softer.

“I don’t know anymore,” she admitted. “I just… I was scared. Not of the law, not of running. I was scared of what it meant to stay. To ask you to choose between what you believed in and me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you look away. “I would’ve chosen you. Every time. If you had asked me to run away with you, I would’ve done it.”

Natasha breath hitched, her grip loosening on the edge of the table, like she was finally releasing some of the weight. She took a small step closer to you. She wanted to reach out, her fingers twitching to touch you. but she held the urge back.

“I never stopped thinking about you. Every single day. I thought about calling you, coming back… but I kept lying here, wondering if you hated me. And if you were okay without me.”

You stepped closer as well, and you can’t stop the tears streaming down your face.

“I don’t hate you for leaving me. But I wasn’t okay. I felt…abandoned.“

It made Natashas heart ache and she wanted to punch herself for leaving you with so much pain. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. Natasha reached out, and cupped your face gently with her hand. Her touch was warm and gentle, despite the cold expression she usually wore. Your eyes lock with each other.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to. I know I cant make it up, but I am so sorry.” She whispered.

And then, just like a muscle memory you moved closer and felt her pulling you into a hug. your arms wrapped around her shoulder tightly, scared she would disappear anytime again. But she was right here in front of you. Tears roll down your cheek, and she just held you, like all those times before when you needed comfort. She murmured softly in your ear:

“Don’t go, okay? We will figure this out together. If you want that.”

You nod your head, knowing you didn’t want to be apart of her again, but the uncertainty and fear of the future lingered in your mind. You wiped a tear away and looked in her eyes again.

“I want that more than anything. But…If I stay, promise you won’t leave me?”

Natasha answered without hesitation and the look in her eyes, full of truth and regret gave you some reassurance.

“I promise, I will stay. I won’t to the same mistake ever again.”

So you stayed. In that quiet little trailer somewhere in Norway. Both of you had things to figure out and the road ahead would be hard. Living on the run, hiding from the world. But you have Natasha back, and thats what mattered.

Later that evening, after hours of conversations about the past few months, you lay beside Natasha in her bed. The previous tension that once hung so heavy between you two had eased. Her arm was draped around your shoulder and you rested your head on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat. You looked up and just stared at her, memorizing every feature of her. The way her lashes brushed her cheek, her bright green eyes in the dimmed light. She noticed your gaze.

“What?” She asked with a slight chuckle.

You shrugged and pointed out casually:

“Your hair is longer. And wavier. I like it though.”

“Yeah? You like that messy and natural look?”

The corner of Nat’s lips curled into a small teasing smile.

You huff out a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah. It’s giving the whole ‘spy on the run look.’”

She chuckled, a small blush appearing on her cheeks. There was a comfortable silence between you two, the kind that only came when you truly felt at home with someone. Natasha whispered softly:

“I missed you, really. I am glad you came to find me.”

“I missed you too.”

You murmur, a hint of vulnerability flickering in your eyes. You think about your old life, before everything went wrong. The avengers, the compound.

“I miss them.” You add.

Natasha let out a shaky exhale, her hand playing absentmindedly with your hair.

“Me too. All of it. all of them.”

“You think we can go back someday and fix everything?”

She sighed, her voice tinged with longing and hope. “I don’t know. A lot has happened, a lot has changed. Things may never be the same before.”

“But we will try? Right?”

Natasha nodded, and her gaze softened as she looks at you. She cupped your face in her hands, her touch tender and reassuring.

“Of course we will. Whatever it takes, we will try to fix it and go home.” Her voice filled with determination and affection.

You nodded your head, and you felt a bit of the hopelessness that built up the last few months loosening. “Okay.”

She brushed a hair strand behind your ear and reassured: “we will figure it out.” Before closing the gap to connect your lips in a tender kiss. You felt your heart skip. The familiar feeling of her touch ignited a spark of affection within you. You returned the kiss, and the tenderness in your touch spoke volumes, expressing the longing you felt in those few months of being apart. You broke the kiss and murmured softly:

“I love you, Nat.”

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This post was Beta'd by @mariekoukie6661. Thanks a million!

A/N: Thought I'd throw my hand at a prompted fic! Hope you guys like it, I'll add a chapter directory and update as needed as the next parts are posted. So stay tuned 👀 Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3

Every morning is always the same when you're paid to kill. He'd been trying to be better about the whole actual killing part lately, but that didn't change his morning routine very much. He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock going off—yes, he still used one. If you asked for his reasoning, he'd tell you it's because it's less complicated and you can always count on it to work because it simply stayed plugged into the wall; in the event that the power went out? It had batteries for backup power, and you can't find that kind of peace of mind with just the alarms on your phone. He's still an old soul, sue him. He woke up at 6:45 am, on the dot, every morning without fail that way so it was rather effective.

After the blaring sound of his trusty alarm clock came the process of forcing himself out of bed and cleaning up for the day; shaving if necessary, freshening up, getting dressed, the works. This was generally when he'd change his appearance should the need arise, as well. But he didn't need to do that this morning and so he flicked the light to the bathroom off as he left the room when he was finished, heading out to his kitchen thereafter. The next step? Food. It was always 7 am sharp by the time he got done with his wakeup process, the only time that changed being when he added any extra steps in the bathroom. And breakfast was always simple: a cup of hot black coffee, sliced avocado, and bread toasted to perfection with an egg over medium to be dipped in. And it never failed to be a pleasant way to start his morning, usually followed closely after by a session of watching the morning news. He found it a good way to see what was going on in the area and across the country so he could plan accordingly.

If he didn't have a job, which by chance was the case today, he'd generally find any sort of quiet way to spend the rest of his morning; reading a book, cleaning up all his weapons, or a walk in the park if he felt like it. Today, he felt like it. And it was mostly peaceful, if you excluded the grating sound of car horns, tires squealing, and buses chuffing past. And of course, if you chose to ignore the rumbling from the subway, the people shouting either in their urgency to get to work or just simply because they were an ass, then it was really utterly plain and quiet to walk through Central Park. By this point Bucky had truly gotten used to it. He supposed in some ways it wasn't too much different from his home in the past. But that didn't mean he liked to spend too much time there anyway. So long as he got out and went back home just in time, he could skip the gradeschoolers and dog walkers that came around for the afternoon.

There had been nothing unusual about his day so far, and he liked that. He liked the rhythm of it all, and how it always went according to his carefully curated schedule. He began the process of unlocking his apartment door after making his way up to his floor, and pushed it open to take a step inside. Crunch.

What the helll...?

Bucky frowned as, seemingly, something sat under his boot and crinkled where he'd stepped, making the same sound again as he carefully pried his foot off. The poor, crisply folded, paper envelope that had earlier been slotted through his dead-drop, suffered a dirt-covered footprint but aside from that, it seemed harmless and intact as he picked it up to inspect it. A curious thing to find when you hardly get mail aside from the bills. What was even more curious was the contents within it, feeling a bit lumpy and—quite frankly—heavy for a letter-sized envelope. He closed the door behind himself with one hand, locking it once again out of habit while the other kept hold of the envelope. Moments later he flicked out a switchblade to slice it open revealing not only a handwritten letter but also $23.42.....Exactly. All in small change.

It was quite honestly the oddest thing he'd seen or received to date, and that was including the number of quite-literal backstabs he'd received, numerous other maiming injuries, and the odd encounters he’d had with a talking raccoon, tree, and robot...man…thing. To name a few. That was also including the number of odd jobs he'd been offered and peculiar payment methods he'd been given. Never had he come across such a specific payment with a letter that….upon further inspection….looked as though its penman couldn't be much older than 9 years old, at most.

'Dear mister,

My name is Rosie Jones. I am 9 yeers old. My mommy says you're vary good at helping people. Well, I need your help. Mommy also said you like to be paid for helping, so I broke my piggy bank open so you wood help us. Mommy doesn't know yet thoe, so please don't tell her.

My mommy dissuhpeered disappeered last night. She told me to hide and I did but now I can't find her and so I need your help mister becuz you're really good at finding people too, mommy said so. Please please help me find my mommy, I don't know what to do mister.

– Rosie'

"You've gotta be shitting me." He muttered to himself. The first question Bucky had, quite honestly, was how did this little girl even know who he was? Or where he lived? Not many people did, if any, truth be told. If they did? They were usually dead within minutes. It was one of many reasons that kept his renowned status intact. But here he was, sitting at his own table, with proof that some little girl knew both of those things. Frowning down at the paper and envelope of change, the assassin ran his hand back through his dark brown hair momentarily, processing what he'd just read. On one hand, it could be an elaborate trap. By all rights he had to assume it, considering the nature of the letter and the fact that a little girl of all people had written it. But on the other hand, there was a certain dedication there that he simply couldn't ignore. And some part of him couldn't help but at least look into it. So moments later, the man was pulling out his laptop and began searching for answers, anything that could give this little girl's story any sort of credit.

Much to his surprise? It checked out. Every last bit of it. There was a mother, connected to the Rosie Jones in question, who had gone missing under rather mysterious circumstances. "I'll be damned, mystery kiddo."

'Y/N Jones, aged 37, a single mother, was nowhere to be found the next morning after reports came in that a struggle and silenced gunshots were heard from the house that night.'

He probably could have gotten away with just keeping the money and letting it go. It was some little kid somewhere hoping for someone to hear her plea, he could get away with it. But it was that name…. he'd seen it before, he knew he had. In all fairness though, he really only remembered faces exceptionally well. Names didn't matter in the long run, names didn't tell him who he was shooting within a crowd of people. So why did it keep nagging at the back of his mind?...

Spoiler alert: he shouldn't have went digging. He should have just left it alone. But he had always been a curious mind and he was nothing if not thorough on top of that. Popping open the top to his bottle of whiskey, Bucky carefully poured out a favorable portion into a glass tumbler, before letting it down onto the counter as he heard an agreeable noise coming from his laptop to signal it had finished its task. Glancing over his shoulder, he sipped on his drink as he made his way back over to the table, having waited for what seemed like an hour to get the information he wanted. And the minute he looked at the screen was the very same minute he regretted it.

He knew that face.

He knew it like the back of his hand almost, he knew it the same way he knew the taste of bourbon or the sound of a .22 magnum. That was the face of Y/N Y/L/N and it was a face he had been trying to forget for years now. But most of all he knew it was a mistake to have even touched this with a ten-foot pole. Because now he had a target, he knew what the target looked like, and he had been paid in- well, maybe not-so-full, but in 9-year-old currency $23.42 was basically a million dollars considering it was all her savings.

In short?

He had to do it now.

He knew that. And it damn near made him groan at the prospect. Because this was going to be a long-ass job, and if he was going to ensure the rescue of that little girl's mother, then he needed to ensure that child's safety. The less leverage the 'enemy' had, the easier his job was. So as he sighed out, "Damnitall, this better be fuckin worth it kid," the hundred year old assassin finished off his drink and went about packing his things to take on a job that he never asked for, but knew damn well he was stuck with until it was over.

But at least if he had to go through with this, he was going to be damn sure he did it right, that was for sure.