#how no matter what universe he’s in he can’t escape the yawning grave

[themosthatedbeingmoving]

Oh, you fool, there are rules I am coming for you

Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins;

You will Open the Yawning grave

[psalloacappella]

à deux

Day 1 Prompt:  Rain

@sasusakublankperiodweek Ao3 | FFN | ↓

“Cold,” he croaks, like unhinging an old metal joint. Instead of the weight of unused years, it’s the weight of unshed tears. The strain in his voice zigzags, lost, falls into its baritone groove. “You always are, when it rains.”

Upon awakening in the bleak dawn, the day’s significance settles on them — at once a burdening melancholy and poignant relic.

At first blush it could be any morning, but as shinobi experienced with the passage of years and the disorientation of traveling dimensions, both are loath to disregard the importance of date and time.

He’s standing at the window. You would assume he’s still lost in a daze of sleep.

Sakura gently presses her cold (they’re always cold, on days like this, days in which it pours and rain floods the countryside and small villages and cleans the dust from these everyday, hard lives) fingertips to his back, alerting him to her presence. Still they are in the phase of learning the lore of one another despite all the things already known, and it is the truest labor of love.

“We should stay one more day,” she says quietly. He hasn’t acknowledged, but hasn’t resisted.

Some days, that’s good enough.

But she overdoes it; that’s who she is. Love may be gentle but her manner of it isn’t always:  Indeed, she is fierce with people that rub her the wrong way, especially those invoking his name out of turn; she eats too fast, as indulgence; she hugs children too tightly when she knows she’ll never see them again, knowing that they are ships flickering through towns, some benevolent symbol of an oppressor they’re too young to put a face to.

Today is the anniversary of death. Over time they’ve both come to know this as an old friend, but this is Sasuke’s most notable scar.

Sakura cannot reach him on days like this, and that’s okay.

“The rain, after all. Traveling in this would be a pain — we’ve tried that before.”

She slides her arm around his waist, pressing her cheek to his warm back.

Don’t cry. It’s not your day. Don’t be so emotional.

Tears escape, they always do. To his credit, he never resents it.

Even with him now,  his equal, there are bouts of disbelief and self-loathing in which all she manages to do is convince herself nothing about her is helpful, that she’s still yearning for him to turn around.

Now the other arm, hanging on to him as if he’s unwieldy, as if he’ll sink into the chilled wood floor and out of her sight for good.

Sasuke’s hand and grip are warm, flash and fire. She knows this is in more ways than one — unspeakable ones, really.

Some grunt of assent, no fully-formed word at all, but she hears him swallow hard, once. It’s easy to, in a small corner of the world which hasn’t yet begun its day.

Hot fingers, frigid arms.

“Cold,” he croaks, like unhinging an old metal joint. Instead of the weight of unused years, it’s the weight of unshed tears. The strain in his voice zigzags, lost, falls into its baritone groove. “You always are, when it rains.”

Sakura resists the urge to click her tongue at his misdirection, the veneer to gloss over his emotional state.

“I’m all right, Sasuke-kun.”

“Hm.”

“I am! It just settles into my hands, that’s all. It’s close to an equinox, you know. The seasons are turning.”

(He’d never admit he likes that about her — nervy, a little more quick to correct, less scared, and that it’s brought him some delight, some sparkle to her that continues to surprise him.)

She feels him scoff under his breath, probably at her ability to pinpoint their location in time, in space, in the universe no matter where they are. When you save lives on seconds of analysis, on minuscule doses, these things become instinctive.

So of course, she knows what today is.

Pressing her nose into his shoulderblade, she says, muffled, “Should I call for tea, then?”

It’s a long beat before he nods, knowing that she’ll have to let him go to complete this task, leaving him alone at the drafty window — the chill having a chance to seep into the cracks in his soul.

They’re always less protected on these days.

.

.

The sleeves of his shirt always drown her wrists and hands, and though she has to flick and adjust them as she moves about the inn room, it’s one of her favorite ways to trap heat against her body. It’s not as cold as the caves they’ve sometimes inhabited, but close. Though the teapot scalds, it’s welcoming.

“It’s steady,” she muses, eyes on the persistent rain. “The whole village will be quiet today, in weather like this.”

Sasuke nods in response with unfocused eyes, collecting himself to meet hers. Green, watching him in a searching way. The way he does to her on all other days, seeking signs of regret or distress or any emotion within his ability to repair or ease. At once, old lovers and new.

A memory sears, a sharp grazing against the mind:  A low table, scattered small dishes like this with food remnants vivid, colorful; a sullen father, the corners of his mouth sagging; his mother beaming, hiding laughter behind her hand.

A brother, by then already burdened and saturated with the weight of his destiny, still finding the almost offensive wherewithal to poke him in the face.

“You haven’t touched anything,” she chides gently.

Tuning in again to them, this, arriving momentarily from his sojourn of the past, his eyes flicker to her own messy plate. Lately she’s only pushed food around in the mimicry of an indulged meal. Worries about her being sick. She just blusters, waving away concerns. (I’m a medic, for god’s sake, I’d know!)

“And you,” he responds, indicating her own dregs with his rude, handsome chin.

She shrugs, burying deeper into his shirt. “Perhaps it’s just the day.”

“You’re coddling, aren’t you? I don’t need that.”

It comes sharper than expected, and he regrets it the second it leaves his lips. He  imagines what Itachi would say, knowing he possesses a great love which he’s taken for granted time over, time again. He’d reprimand him, as he should.

Often he settles for his ex-sensei’s silent admonitions instead.

Finishing a sip of tea, she sets the mug down and sighs. Getting to her feet, she collects a few scrolls she’s been poring over the last few nights and looks at him, a bit less readable this time.

“You’re allowed to feel this, you know, Sasuke-kun. You’re allowed to love, and you’re allowed to hurt.”

She half-turns, but stops and adds,

“And you can even feel it all at the same time.”

Sakura retreats to the corner where one of the few furnishings sits. A chair, large enough for her to fold herself into and unravel her resources. A plant discovered in this new region they had crossed into last week, similar and yet different enough to pique her interest and spur her to research. She’s been lost in common roots, and he’s been mired in the loss of his old ones.

The ability of the mind to experience multiple things at once is truly remarkable. To an observer he watches her study with intent as she furrows her brow, yawns often throughout. Sasuke can see her as well as his past all at once.

Anniversaries of his dead loved ones shouldn’t mean so much. After all, he’s been alive without them longer than with.

Sasuke wishes he could explain that her presence is enough. That her loving him has been enough.

“We could still go through the traditions, if you’d like. Collect what we need. I know,” and her breath hitches, and she glances away under his dark eyes, probably feeling she’s pressing, said too much, “there’s no grave to do it with, but—”

“It’s fine.” He tries, he does, to say it with less bite. Gods, he’s transparent, his pain and denial. He’s not ready yet. Will he ever be?

“This is your day to grieve,” she says softly. “You should do that however you choose. No one can tell you how to feel — not even me.

Even me. He knows she knows his weakness. Watches her yawn again and awkwardly adjust her body, as if her own skin is uncomfortable, blink and he’d miss.

“There’s nothing I want to do,” he confesses, sounding hoarse against his will. “Nothing at all.”

A pause, a long one, in which the rain sings against the roof.

“Then you don’t have to,” she says. “You just grieve.”

And so he does.

Pretends to read.

Stares out the window.

Lingers in the discomfort of his own skin.

Paces.

Touches no food, lapses into a mausoleum silence so complete the lines of them blur against their own dimension.

He can feel his brother’s touch, and she can feel his agony.

She rises periodically, offering him tea, sliding her arms around him from behind again. He alternates between silence and quiet shakes that he’d never admit were sobs.

By dusk he’s in her lap, hair mussed and wild, feeling spent from everything and nothing at all, from wandering in the better memories of a brother he can’t bring back.

It slips from his lips in a moment of weakness, it hurts.

“I know,” she whispers, pulling her fingers gently through his untamed locks. “It always might. But don’t forget, every day has the same number of hours.”

It’s not until they lie down again, the day a simultaneous blur of grief and guilt, that she says in a soothing whisper, “And look, darling — you’ve made it through another. You always do.”

And while he can’t articulate that each year it’s a little more muted, the pain easing off him as they pass, if only marginally, he manages to thank her only in twilight when he’s spared from knowing if she can hear him at all.

.

.

On the second day of rain he awakens before her, an arm curled around her stomach in a way that aligns with some adagio ballad pouring from where, he doesn’t know, the universe, some sign, and as intelligent as he is the facts are slipping from him whether due to the haze of sleep or the turmoil of his ghosts, the way the dead and the living and the coming to life knot themselves with one another, soaking him with an instinct and some sense of surety so intoxicating that he buries his face in her long, wild hair where nothing can see his face, but she will know his heart.

If everything’s a cycle, then the old and new must cross paths in their rotations.

The darkness bleeds away and he realizes she’s waited to spill the joyous news, not wanting to acknowledge that alignment of the stars to spare his feelings, and for that he is endlessly grateful and guilty.

But he likes to think his brother, despite his faults, would have liked to know he continued forward, that he accepted the love he didn’t feel he deserved and tried, desperately, to welcome life anew.

Sasuke presses his lips to the back of her neck, and his warm hand against her stomach.

“It’s still raining,” she murmurs, still in the place between wakefulness and dreams.

He thinks he feels the flutter of his future against his palm. He only whispers,

“Let’s stay here for now.”  

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Darkness”

The Messengers of Darkness have a clear purpose: to always create havoc and destruction no matter where they go. Lately one of them slowed down for a weird reason: the entity fell in love with a mortal. Such transgression is bound to attract unwanted attention from its peers, yet the Dark One posing as The Joker won’t let anything stand between his kind and the woman he will protect at all costs.  

The sound of distant thunder makes you snuggle to The Joker’s chest; you feel your forehead being kissed before another rumble disrupts the gloomy dawn.

“Is there a storm coming?” you yawn and open one eye. “Should we close the windows?”

“No, it’s fine,” J replies, carefully listening to hidden whispers scattered in the breeze making its way around Gotham.

“Ok…” you mumble and pull the covers higher until your nose sticks out from behind the thickest comforter. Your steady breathing queues J you’re dozing off again and he rolls out of bed, displeased about the unwanted presence he senses nearby.

“I know you’re here,” he growls while sniffing the air.

A low humming confirms his suspicion and The Clown Prince of Crime sneaks outside on the terrace in order to greet the emissary sent with a clear assignment.

“Why are you hiding?” the question echoes in the quietness. “Show yourself!”

“I’m not hiding.”

As soon as the words are spoken, the sinister apparition materializes in front of The Joker: it has human shape, yet is made only of Darkness. The being and its counterpart posing as The Clown Prince of Crime were born from the same abyss: one could say that makes them siblings, although the notion of family doesn’t exist in the Shadow Realm.

“What do you want?” J mutters, unhappy his early morning is interrupted by a visitor bearing ill news.

He can tell.

“The High Council demands your attendance for a meeting.”

“Regarding?” the green haired King bites on his cheek, already guessing on the answer.

“Your relationship with the mortal.”

J is watching the lightning chaotically striking inside the creature’s body since The Dark Ones are in a permanent state of mayhem: their blackness is carried within and enables them to travel between different dimensions.

“What relationship?” The Joker huffs, pretending to brush off any attachment that’s out of character for his kin.

“I was told you slowed down your activities in the past six months after you’ve met the woman.”

“I didn’t slow down. I’m actually planning for more anarchy,” the explanation prompts advice from the entity:

“I hope you won’t dare lie to the members of The Council like this; they will immediately know just like I know.”

The Joker exhales, glaring at the grey clouds above.

“What are you doing anyway?” the wraith lectures out of pure spite. “We don’t engage with these maggots; they’re useless and their lives are gone in a blink of an eye! We’re immortals and unstoppable, designed for a simple purpose: to reign this miserable planet and ensure its doom! So I’m asking: what are you doing?!”

For the first time in the whole eternity, he doesn’t have a reason for his behavior.

“I can’t rationalize what I feel,” J approaches the specter, “but allow me to demonstrate,” he transforms into the wretched monster that he truly is, identical to the one standing before him.

There is a big difference though: the fire bolts illuminating his frame are not randomly striking at once, they keep on hitting the same spots in a very organized pattern.

“What… what is this?!!” the uncanny sister marvels at the view.

“Not sure, it happens when I’m around Y/N. Here, you can feel it also,” he takes her right hand and places it on his chest.

She gasps at the unexpected sensation: quietness. Complete quietness; no crazy havoc, no evil thoughts, no urge to kill.

“How did you do this?!!!” she inquires, dumbfounded.

“I have no clue,” The Joker reclaims his human shell, waiting for her to snap out of trance.

“The Council won’t like this,” the evident truth is spoken aloud. “How did you even connect with the girl on such a level?!”

J lifts his shoulders up, confused.

“I really have no idea.”

Awkward stillness.

“We must leave,” the apparition urges a troubled Joker; it’s strange for him to worry about someone and for the moment he’s concerned about you while dreading the encounter with his kin:

How did a twisted devil like him actually learn the definition of such complicated emotions? How can he justify such abomination to his peers?

It most than likely won’t end well because The Council is already suspicious regarding his bizarre actions.

“I’ll return shortly,” he snarls. “I have to say goodbye.”

*************

You stretch under his weight, J yanking at the sheets to expose your face.

“I have an emergency meeting,” he grumbles in your ear.

“Baaaby…”, you cuddle to his neck half snoozing. “Can I take a shower and join you?”

“No… Stay in bed; I promise I’ll come back for you.”

Y/N smiles, totally oblivious at the meaning.

“You’d better Mister J; your girlfriend might get cold and she’ll need company,” you pout and he stands up, bending over to kiss you.

“I will,” the grin disappears from his face as your eyelids close; he wishes he could linger on the premises yet the messy situation requires hasty measures. Another kiss and he vanishes into thin air, abandoning the woman at The Penthouse.

You sigh in your sleep, the sudden cold gust of wind filling up the room. In a few minutes the chillness intensifies and Y/N is unaware of the grave danger she’s in: another Dark Messenger is there to annihilate the target she became after changing the laws of nature.

The meeting with The High Council was a pretext to send your protector away; The Shadow known as The Joker is a powerful entity among his kind and they didn’t want to risk any trouble. Your faith was sealed the second you bonded with him and although you aren’t guilty of anything, it doesn’t matter: you are guilty to them and that’s the sole logic they bow to.

Invisible to the human eye, the enemy is near: it watches you turn on your side, wondering what’s so damn special about an average mortal; nothing peculiar to indicate you could create trouble and switch the balance hanging in their favor. A woman like so many others.

And yet unique in a way The Dark Ones will never understand.

The wraith awaits for a little bit longer: your guardian has to be far, thus he won’t have an opportunity to save his cherished human. Ten extra minutes… fifteen…twenty…thirty…

The creature unravels his claws, quickly closing the distance between the two of you. Another step and it’s here, smelling your scent with disgust.

“Repulsive being…” he sneers, touching the lump of skin and bones peacefully resting without a care in the universe.

There is no warning, no escape: your body instantly disintegrates, the silver ashes flying on the pillows you were hugging.

The specter chuckles at the sweet victory, reckoning the reward for its mighty deed will be greatly remembered in the centuries to come.

If only…

Ironically enough your demise will set things in motion unseen neither in the world of the living or the Shadow Realm: the ordinary girl might have been just a grain of sand passing through infinity, but they forgot one important detail: she was HIS GIRL.

************

The two companions are almost reaching their final destination at the end of the 7th Gate of Darkness, when the twisted spirit posing as J halts.

“Something is wrong,” he mumbles, the unbearable emotion of impending doom growing stronger.

“What is it?” his escort curiously inquires as the lightning inside his celestial shape strikes chaotically again: no more steady pattern since you are gone.

“Something is very wrong; I can’t feel her anymore!” he shrieks, preparing for an interdimensional jump. “I’m going back!”

“We’re practically home; I’m sure she’s fine,” the soothing lies have the exact opposite effect. “We are expected and The Council hates delays.”

“I don’t care! I’m going back!”

“Wait, I’m coming too!” she offers because the whole charade points out at the ugly reality: they used her to lure him out of the nest without sharing their plan.

************** Ten minutes… fifteen…twenty…thirty…

“I told you I can’t feel her anymore…” his sister hears as soon as she catches up to him in the master bedroom where you were left to nap. “Did you know about this?”

He keeps on caressing the soot scattered on the blankets, numb to her sentences:

“I didn’t know! They just entrusted me with an easy mission and I obeyed. I was only told to bring you in front of Council for questioning; they didn’t share the bigger picture with me.”

The more she defends her innocence, the more her voice fades within the infernal ruckus shaking the building from the ground up.

“Ummm… What are you doing?!” she asks even if she can sense his intentions.

The decorative objects scattered around The Penthouse shatter into tiny particles drifting towards The Joker and he buries his face in the lifeless ashes on the bed, the only proof you were once there.

“You can’t do that!” she screams over the deafening commotion. “You can’t turn back time, it’s forbidden!”

“I want her back!!!!”

“Stop!!!! You can’t control it! You’ll lose your powers for the transgression; how will you even find her?! You’ll end up before you’ve ever met and she won’t know you!”

“That’s my burden to worry about, not yours!” the Dark One hisses amidst the hellish storm created in order to reset The Clock: the sands of time are moving backwards and he doesn’t care about consequences.

It’s better to take the risk and try to recover the lost connection than endure ages of solitude in the eternal murkiness.

*************

You drag your feet on the concrete, squeezing the bag full of groceries to your chest; three more blocks and you’ll finally be home after another exhausting day at work. You keep on admiring the nice clothes and shoes exhibited by the chic boutiques on Main Street: that’s all you can afford anyway….lots of window shopping.

You manage not to cry at the harsh disappointment of finding yourself in a desperate situation courtesy of your boyfriend Mark; I guess ex-boyfriend to be more specific. God knows how difficult it was to save money together for almost a year for a downpayment on a condo situated in a better neighborhood since this one is going downhill!

And the unthinkable happened: you had another terrible fight thus he took his stuff and moved out the following week. You were at work so Mark came to gather his last items; he was supposed to leave the spare key, take half of the money prepared for him and flee. But he didn’t have the decency to split the cash: he snatched his envelope and also searched for your share hidden under the stairs, grabbed it and skipped town.

All ten thousand dollars and the hope for a better future is gone; right when you think you know someone… damn…

Why do you have to be stuck in this district you hate?! So many weirdos popping at every corner, for example the creep that just stopped behind you. You can discern his reflection in the glass: a strange man with toxic green hair, his mouth slightly opened like this is the first time he sees a woman. Jesus!

You shiver at the view, taking one last glance at the pair of earrings displayed by “Zales Jewelry Company”. Maybe if you speed up the guy won’t be able to track you in the crowd. Or maybe you’re paranoid and a glass of wine in the safety of your apartment will make you laugh at how stupid you are while watching a movie on the couch. And then you’ll probably sobb until you doze off…

Every few moments you look to ensure he’s not pursuing; the spooky man gave out an unsettling vibe you can’t shake off. Although you’re dead tired, you find the energy to hurry and you’re finally home.

You place the grocery bag on the counter and freeze: the anxiety you felt earlier is crawling back in your heart. Oh, you know why: did you lock the door?

You instinctively glare at the exit, concealing a scream: the individual you saw earlier sneaked inside! He’s staring you down and it clicks: the mace in your purse! If you can get to it before he does, you could have a better chance of escaping the intruder.

You count to three in your head, gathering your courage; you rush for your handbag yet the guy is faster: he cuts you off and pulls you in his arms, tightening the grip as you fight to break free. You are completely terrified when he swiftly kisses you; you struggle to escape but you realize he’s not attempting to do anything else. He loosens his embrace, still firmly holding on to Y/N’s waist.

Does it sound insane that his touch feels familiar?!

You part from his lips and gaze at the hypnotic blue eyes, faintly whispering:

“Who are you?...”

The devilish smirk gets wider as he utters the words:

“My name is Jay.”

Also read: MASTERLIST

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You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[crimes-and-gelato]

Half a Blue Sky (Chapter 2)

Rating: M Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Chapter Title: Send My Love to Your Old Lover A/N: And thank you if you're still here and reading this.This chapter introduces Bucky, thus, it's going to include mentions of his murder of the Starks, his trauma, and his brainwashing. None are detailed. Just mentioned. I don't think this needed saying since we all know he went through all that but in case someone needed a heads up.That's it. Hope you like this chapter! :)

****

“You remind me of the stars in the sky because I don’t ever want to stop looking at the sky. I don’t ever want to stop looking at the sky. And I don’t ever want to stop looking at you. You’ve captivated my mind, my heart, and my soul. The flower from previous woes have now grown into beautiful roses. As beautiful as it seems I’m finding it hard to breathe because reality has hit me and I know I can never call you one word: mine.” -biancandbeanstalk

****

Steve comes back to the tower with Barnes in tow. And stupidly, that’s not the knife that metaphorically kills Tony. No, it’s Captain America’s grave news about learning of his parents’ murderer: James Barnes AKA The Winter Soldier.

‘It’s not his fault, Tony,’ Steve reasons out. Tony knows Steve will always take Barnes’ side no matter what. ‘HYDRA made him do it.’ There’s guilt and hatred in his voice that’s simply heartbreaking to hear. ‘Please help him.’

Tony knows he shouldn’t, that he can say ‘no’ and ‘fuck you’, and he won’t be the bad guy because Steve just opened an old wound that had never truly healed - it just scabbed over his heart and disfigured his insides. He’s mourning for his mother once again. He’s allowed to be angry.

But it’s Steve. Tony loves Steve, and he knows his mother would want him to heal and forgive. And there’s also that grieving look in Bucky’s eyes that Tony finds familiar.

So, who is Tony to deny Steve of anything? The super soldier’s happiness is important to Tony. Achingly so.

It also helps their case that Tony had been sent files about the torture that Barnes had undergone in the hands of HYDRA. It’s a miracle the ex-assassin managed to survive after those constant tormenting: the memory wiping, the unwanted operation, the inhumane training, and other more disgusting activity HYDRA planned.

Masochistic must be Tony’s middle name. Should have been because he does help Steve and Barnes.

Helping the two soul bonded doesn’t mean he fully forgive Barnes. No, that will take time. Lots of time because it’s about his mother. Maria Carbonell Stark whom Tony loves dearly. The woman who understood that Tony needed to be human before he could don the mask of a Stark man even when Howard was such a horrible husband.

His parents weren’t soulmates. Their union was nothing but a business deal.

Some people, like his parents do marry someone even when they are not soul bond. There is a statistics that say it works. But only a small percentage. Mostly, like Maria and Howard’s, fails. It’s like the universe cursing the union for trying to defy the odds.

Those who do defy the odds are small and brave and strong. Tony is none of those, so despite his old age — Rhodey says that thirty-six is the new twenty-three, or something — he tried not to settle down with anybody else except his soulmate. Only now, even his soul bond is a condemnation from the universe.

So much for waiting. He should have gone with Pepper, or Rhodey.

‘Don’t worry I’ll marry you when you reach forty, Antoshka, if you couldn’t find your soulmate,’ Natasha tells him one time he vents to her about his single-ness predicament.

Tony only cuddles further into her warm embrace. ‘But then you’ll be stuck with me.’ He throws his head back a bit to look up to her. ‘What about your soulmate?’

It’s mild but the Black Widow’s eyes flinch with pain. Just for a second. Tony could have missed it but he knows Natasha by now. They’re best friends after that green pistachio ice cream incident in which they have slowly learned to trust each other and now here they are, cuddling to make Clint gag.

‘They’re probably dead.’ She’s not meeting Tony’s eyes as she looks ahead on the TV. There’s enough nonchalance in her voice that sounded fake.

Tony doesn’t ask how she knows. He only wraps himself into her tighter and wishes that she didn’t have to suffer under the Red Room. But he can’t change their pasts. He can only wish for a better path for here on out.

Same goes for Barnes. And just like for Natasha, Tony can pave a great present and future for Bucky. Isn’t that what he’s been trying to do after Afghanistan to redeem himself from all the wrongs of his past?

He understands them both better because he took the same path and carry around a guilt that no amount of self-redemption could lessen the weight of. A road littered with blood and corpses. A road that he doesn’t want to take anymore because this is not the legacy he wants to leave behind.

Sometimes he wonders if this is why he’s close friends with Natasha — that could almost compete with his two decades friendship with Rhodey —  is because she understands what it’s like to be broken. It might be the whole birds with the same feather adage. Or maybe it’s because he’s wise enough to make friends with broken people because they know how to survive.

Yes, he’s one, but there are times when he feels like he can’t do it anymore. Then he thinks back of the hell he went through and at the same time the hell he have brought, of all the amending he has to make for his mistakes. The latter alone keeps him moving forward, just like Natasha and Barnes, because he’s alive for a reason. And he won’t waste this second chance he got to turn his bloody legacy into something close to a shining beacon of hope for the future.

And isn’t that what he is? A futurist.

A man with an ambition to make the world safe for the future generation. Cliche as it may sound. But it’s the truth.

So, he needs to start working on the places he can fix. On the people he can help. People he believes have potential to makes the world safe.

Maybe he helps Barnes for Steve, but at the same time he helps the POW because he refuses to be a monster. He refuses to carry around a hate that his mother would never want for him.

****

‘Tony, it’s time for bed,’ Natasha informs as she walks into the workshop. She’s been very strict with his sleeping and eating schedule all thanks to Peppers request to Natasha to keep an eye on him. And when did the two scary redhead team up? Become friends?

‘No.’ He side-eyes her and reasons out that he’s not sleepy yet, but a yawn escapes his mouth. Great, even his own body betrays him.

‘It’s past midnight, Antoshka.’ She raises an eyebrow at him like a mother silently reprimanding her child. ‘You have an early board meeting tomorrow.’

Tony did glare at her. ‘You and Pepper becoming friends is one of the worst things that happened in my life,’ he whines but closes his holograms with a wave of his hand. He’s not stupid enough to try and disobey Natasha. He still wants to continue breathing, thank you very much.

They leave the workshop together and got on the lift.

‘Steve’s been looking for you since the day before yesterday ,’ she tells him blankly. But knowing her, Tony’s sure she’s trying to watch him for reactions.

Except Tony doesn’t have much to say. Only, ‘Really?’ And he even sounds believable as if he didn’t spend the entire week — since Steve’s return — avoiding the Wonder Twins. As if it’s all coincidence that he had lots of things to do in SI, the R&D needed him for some testing, and he had to fly to Wakanda for three days to meet with the genius princess, Shuri, to help with Barnes’ deprogramming.

He’s been busy. Not evasive. And if Pepper found him that one time in his office doing soduko at 1am when he should be home she got him some coffee and closed the door, bless her. Because he couldn’t imagine haunting his workshop as usual, it was team movie night and both Steve and Natasha have override codes.

So, not avoiding. Definitely not.

‘It’s about Bucky’s arm.’ And Natasha really does knows how to pique Tony’s interest because it’s obvious he had been lusting over the metal arm. It’s the engineer in him, really. ‘Steve wants to ask if you can take a look at it because it seems like it’s causing Bucky pain.’

Tony frowns at that. ‘Since when?’

The spy only shrugs. ‘You should ask Steve. Or better... Bucky.’

‘Sure,’ he tells her. Not knowing if he was bluffing or not. Maybe he should ask Natasha and save himself from stressing out over whether he should pull the band-aid in one go or peel it slow. She always seems to have the answer.

There’s that nagging thought at the back of his head as well that the spy had noticed his forced habit of calling Steve by any and all names but his first name,  throwing the most ridiculous nicknames he can find at the man while keeping him at arm's length. But it’s not as if it’s suspicious that Tony’s using nicknames instead of names because he’s quite well-known for it. The only question is that if Natasha had been keen enough to figure out his deepest and darkest secret.

What will Natasha tell him if she knows that he’s Captain America’s soulmate? Maybe request him not to get between Steve and Barnes. That’s what people would say because that’s the right thing.

The elevator arrives on Tony’s floor, the penthouse suite. JARVIS opens the door.

‘Tony,’ she calls at him as he steps out.

He turns to look at her.

‘It’s okay,’ she says solemnly. ‘You don’t have to forgive him if you don’t want to.’ She stares into him, eyes colouring with genuine sincerity, just a dab of softness to the sides of her mouth. How he’d come to be so close to her to be able to read these things, he wouldn’t remember. Maybe it was all the time they’d been forced to work together, rub shoulders while sharing traumatic experiences.

After the fall of SHIELD, Tony thought she would set up camp by Steve’s side. But she still guards his corner. If he allowed himself, he’d probably hug her and weep. He’s allergic to any show of emotion though, and so was Natasha. Although they have been subtly disgustingly sweet and caring with each other. Ask Clint.

He only nods because what can you say to that exactly?

Natasha gives back a small nod in return and clicks the lift’s close button.

The spy is gone but Tony continues to stare at the elevator door and contemplates on what Natasha had just told him. It’s quite perplexing to believe that his pain is valid, that it doesn’t make him a bad person to not forgive Barnes. But then again, he had already decided to.

****

It takes him another day to finally face the music. He hasn’t seen Barnes ever since Steve had brought his soulmate to the tower. Not that Tony’s excited on meeting his competition. Also, there was no competition.

He invited the two super soldiers to his workshop, where he feels safer. The suits will be around him in case he needed a quick escape when it all gets too much for his poor heart. JARVIS will keep an eye out of him, and so will his bots.

‘Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are on their way, sir,’ JARVIS announces.

‘Thanks, J,’ he tells his AI, closing the hologram for the new suit. ‘Let them in.’

‘Duly noted, sir.’

And under three minutes the doors of the shop open, and in stroll the super soldiers. He turns his swivel chair to have a look at the both of them. Maybe he can desensitise himself by looking at them, just so it won’t hurt anymore. Maybe.

The pair of them look weary. The darker-haired one looks on guard but his eyes are wide in marvel.

‘Tony.’ There’s a small relieved smile on the blond’s lips. He’s taking the lead while Barnes’ two steps behind. The sound of his own name on the Captain’s lips make his insides ache but Tony tries to pretend it’s hunger pangs from his recent eighteen hour shift he pulled with the new suit designs.

‘Cap,’ he greets back not bothering to stand up. He then eyes the ex-assassin. ‘And you must be the infamous Winter Soldier.’ He refuses to call him Bucky. They’re not friends. They don’t have to be and that’s fantastic.

‘Tony.’ It sounds like a warning, but it’s usual for Steve.

‘It’s okay, Stevie,’ the Winter Soldier placates. He moves around so he’s next to Steve.

And if Tony’s heart isn’t breaking he’d say that they both make such a beautiful picture and pair. Instead he ignores them both and ignores his pain as he mutely orders the soldier to the medical chair. He keeps it for when he’s injured in battles and refuses to go to the medical bay. Bruce reprimands him for it and keeps saying how he’s not that kind doctor, but nonetheless he still fixes Tony’s injuries.

Barnes stares at the chair like a deer in headlights. The picture of fear is clear in his blue grey eyes.

‘Okay.’ Tony silently makes a mental note. He casually pats the metal table on the other side of him. ‘Sit here, soldier boy.’

There is instant relief in the ex-assassin’s feature. Although it is mild, because he still looks like he is ready to flee at the drop of a hat.

‘Where does it hurt?’ he asks and pulls up his hologram set up to do a full body scan of the man in front of him. Hoping that having something to do with his hands will keep him from getting excited and grabby with the shiny metal arm in his proximity. He has a feeling Barnes doesn’t want it to be touched without consent. His time in Afghanistan had told him that much about having an unwanted upgrade. ‘Can I touch it? Is it okay?’

The former POW looks at his soulmate as if he’s trying to find some strength from Steve’s silent assurance. Tony tries not to notice the amount of trust between the soulmates. Tries to ignore the knife digging deep in his chest at witnessing the very thing he can never have.

Barnes nods.

The man looks like an ex-convict no matter which direction you approach him from, Tony finds it a shame, he grew up watching the old reels of the Howling Commandos. He had always looked up to both Barnes and Cap. Mostly to the former because Steve’s shoes are impossible to fill. Even at the young age of five, Tony knows that truth.

So, he’s spent his younger years and teenage years on trying to follow Barnes’ footsteps, the amazing sidekick who quietly helps save the world even when no one acknowledges how much he had done and sacrificed.

He can’t imagine coming out and saying it so bluntly. He'd sound like a fool or a teenager with a silly crush. So, he’ll have to make do with what he can get away with: be his usual, flirty, sauve self. Steve would not get the wrong impression because he’s been a victim — countless of times — of Tony’s debauch personality.

‘JARVIS, what’s the scan say?’ He turns to the screen where several files are opening up thanks to JARVIS. At the same time he tries very hard not to ogle the man before him.

‘There appears to be an overlapping framework, sir,’ JARVIS replies as Tony’s screen fills with the arm’s 3D structure.

He turns to Barnes again, gently lifting the wrist to see the movement and the arm made clinky noises as it moved. The movement seemed natural and that was more than enough to peak his interest. ‘I’m going to open your arm panels and see what’s wrong, okay?’

‘I’m not going to break, you know,’ Barnes deadpans with mild irritation.

He might have used kid’s glove on dealing with Barnes. Really, he should know better than tip-toeing around the man like he’s a walking time bomb. Didn’t he hate it when his friends did that with him before?

‘Is that a challenge?’ he retorts, raising his eyebrows at Barnes. A wicked smile playing on his lips.

Steve says his name again with perfect measurement of Captain-America-is-upset-with-you.

And before he can roll his eyes on Steve, Barnes grins widely at him like the brainwashed assassin can’t believe how lucky he's got to be to have discovered Tony’s brand of humour. It’s very special and rare, and it offends lots of people most of the time.

‘Let’s see what you got, Stark,’ Barnes throws back, amusedly.

****

Despite trying to avoid The Wonder Twins, Tony finds himself alone with Barnes more often in his workshop than the times he sees or talks to Steve. Not that Steve doesn’t try to have a conversation with him. He just refuses to speak with his teammate.

They both walk on eggshell. And it’s not like Tony wants to close the gap between them, because he doesn’t want to. Well, logically he shouldn’t because he needs to move on. But at the same time he painfully craves to have Steve back in his life like before.

Can’t always get what you want.. This is it for Tony. He should start to accept that. He should. Even if it’s hard.

Barnes goes down to Tony’s shop all by himself now, refusing to have Steve around to metaphorically hold his hand. The other super soldier believes it’s better for his healing, to get slow independence on his own.

Princess Shuri’s device must be working, and so is the therapy because Barnes looks better than when Tony had first seen him. And it’s been only a month.

He wants to be happy with Barnes since they’ve somehow became kindred-spirits with how they both undergone body changes they never wanted. And he knows that the PTSD isn’t a walk in the park either.

But they’re not friends. They’re acquaintances, doctor-patient, housemates. Nothing more. And it shouldn’t be more. He should be afraid if he starts to crave for more.

‘Tony, Tasha told me to come and get you for din—,’ Bruce cuts off.

‘Hey, Bruciebear,’ Tony flashes his friend a smile and closes the metal panels in Barnes’ arm. ‘Dinner time?’

Bruce nods. ‘Tasha’s finishing with the cooking so she asked me to come and get you,’ he explains, studying Barnes’ arm thoughtfully. ‘And this thing is connected to his brain?’

‘Yes.’ He stands up from his chair and pops his back into place. ‘I’ve had JARVIS scan it. It’s quite revolutionary. But at the same time it needs great improvements because it’s sloppy work, very inefficient.’

‘Hmmm...’ Bruce continues to stare at the arm. ‘Maybe Dr. Cho can help you improve the motor neuron function commands from his primary motor cortex.’

‘I’ve thought of that.’ He puts his hands on his hips. ‘Helen said she’ll try to drop in two weeks from now, since she’s busy with the Regeneration Cradle at the moment.’

‘The Regeneration Cradle?’ Bruce’s eyes grow wide with amazement. ‘You’ve finished it?’ He puts a supportive hand on Tony’s shoulder, a grin creeping on his face. ‘Congratulations!’

Tony nods, refusing to blush. ‘Thanks.’

Bruce squeezes his shoulder softly. ‘I’m really happy for you, Tony. It’s going to help a lot of people.’

‘Well, that’s the plan.’ He shrugs, feeling embarrassed by the praise coming from another brilliant mind. Maybe an even better genius than he ever will be. ‘And I was hoping it’ll help Winter Wonderland here as well.’

And they both turn to Barnes, who looks annoyed at being ignored and talked about like he’s not in the same room as the two scientist.

‘I don’t think I have been introduced yet,’ Bruce mentions.

Tony jumps off at the chance for a change of topic. He doesn’t like being the centre of attention. No matter what the media says. Well, he actually does like being the star of the show, but only if he has control on what’s about to happen. Praise makes him uncomfortable, maybe it's because the concept had been unfamiliar for so long.

‘That is so rude of me,’ he jokes. ‘Brucie-bear meet the Winter Soldier a.k.a., Captain America’s best friend and soulmate, a.k.a. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.’ He gestures to the super soldier sitting on the metal table. ‘Barnes,’ he begins as he turns to the said man who appears to be quite tense now, ‘meet the incredible, brilliant , Dr. Bruce Banner. He has like seven Ph.Ds. it's frankly amazing.’

Barnes isn’t even looking at the man he’s being introduced to. No, his blue grey eyes are wide with shock as they dig into Tony’s face. His whole body is rigid with tension that wasn’t there like six seconds ago.

‘And he also turns into a sublime green being that can get you and Cap a run for your money on being The Strongest Avenger.’ He tries very hard to ignore the sudden changes in Barnes, knowing it won’t do good if he hovers over him now like a mother hen. That’s Steve’s job. Not that he’s not concerned with Barnes’ well-being, too. It’s only that he understands that sometimes your nightmares haunt you with no warning or whatsoever.

No time or place is safe for the traumas to make their appearance. Tony knows that. In a snap of a finger a moment can suddenly feel like your skin doesn’t fit anymore, or the room becomes too small or too loud or too quiet. It doesn’t make sense.

‘Nice to finally meet you, Sergeant Barnes.’ Bruce reaches his right hand forward with a smile.

But Barnes’ eyes are glued on Tony’s face like he’s disbelieving the genius’ existence.

It’s not yet a panic attack, but Tony fears it will become one. He wants to reach out to Barnes and tell the man to breathe in and out, only he doesn’t. How could he? The incredulity slowly morphs into terror behind Barnes’ eyes. The same grey blue ones that are turned to Tony.

There’s no denying the presented facts. Barnes’ is triggered by Tony. He’s currently Barnes’ Boogeyman.

Tony expects the pain, the ones that always comes when they see him as he sees himself: a monster. Hate will follow fear in the process. And he’s not ready to see those emotions on Barnes’ eyes pointed at him. He couldn't stand to disappoint another one of his heroes.

And before either of the scientists can ask what’s wrong, since Bruce has noticed as well, Barnes mutters a, ‘I have to go,’ before he leaves abruptly like he can’t stand to be in the same room as Tony.

To say that it hurts Tony would be an understatement. Rejection has never been gentle with him, and to think after all these years he should be used to it by now. The years doesn’t numb the pain so that one can get use to it.

He tries to look at the positive side: he’s not going to be bothered very long by Barnes’ rejection because they’re not friends. It’s a good thing they’re not. Even when Tony wanted to be at some point despite telling himself that he doesn’t.

This is exactly for the best. Cutting lose people before he gets too attached.

Not everyone can stomach him as a person, so it shouldn’t be surprising that Barnes had wanted out before whatever they had could have progressed. Hell, Tony’s sure most of his friends are ticking time bombs and would one by one leave him in the future.

He hopes that those days don’t come. But it sure will. He knows it, because Howard had reminded him way too many times that he’s destined to be alone and unloved. It comes along with his legacy as one of the problematic Stark.

[watermonkey0]

4th Point of Contact *Preview*

Preview of Mission Report #1 of ‘4th Point of Contact’ (Do Kyungsoo x Harper Hasagawa)

Please let me know what you think with notes and comments! @trinitysroses

“Never cut a tree down in the wintertime. Never make a negative decision in

a low. Never make your most important choices when you are in your worst

moods. Wait. Be patient. The storm will pass. The spring will come.”               

--Robert Schuller

The world was a drenched grey scale, tilted on its axis, hanging skewed on the scale of forever. The balance was off. I felt it, the rocks felt it, the sea felt it. We were lost in the shift, forgotten between the strands of this new fabric of universe we’d found ourselves in. I didn’t fit in here, the island under my boots didn’t piece together here, the ocean roiling before me would never be calm here. It was a tempest, crashing against the cliff, crashing against my heart, the pieces left of it. We competed to see who was loudest in this new truth, and I think I won. The whirlwind ripped out of me with enough force to shatter the canted rocks, to silence the ravaging sea. I was more than them, but I was less than nothing. There was no way to tell if the rain hitting my face was from the sea, from the sky, or from me. But it pounded into my skin, each drop a punch. Let them come! I wanted it, I wanted them to wash off this illusion, strip away this lie, because it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.

“Hello?” The voice said, and the ocean fractured---

I woke with a jolt.

“Harper? Harper!” My mother was screaming as Fall Out Boy was blaring through the speakers of my phone.

Strange, I thought as I rolled out of bed. It had been at least six weeks since I’d dreamt of that night. Memories were funny things, but dreams were worse. I’d done well for the past few months, avoiding any unnecessary triggers, but who knows? Maybe it was because ‘Thnks fr th Mmrs’ was playing on a loop and I still hadn’t answered the phone.

“Harper! Will you turn that down already!” She yelled again from downstairs.

“Okay okay!” I hollered back, grabbing the iPhone from the dresser and swiping the green button without even looking to see who it was. “Hasagawa.” I answered with a yawn. Enough time had passed that I no longer screened my calls, not that anyone but my mother called my anyway, but my heart always beat a little bit faster in those first few moments. Because, what if…

“Sergeant?”

I pulled the phone away from my face, gaping at the massive mistake I’d just made. The caller ID listed a  +81 country code, prefecture 98--Naha. “Sergeant? Are you there?”

“K-Kojima?” I mouthed. The ghosts seemed to be out in full force today as I dropped to the edge of my bed. I didn’t even have a bra on, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth! It was too early for this!

“Yokatta! You finally answered! I’ve been calling all day.” A morning of muffled Patrick Stump seemed a likely enough explanation for my mother’s mood, but still, it was like two am in Okinawa--I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and sucked in a horrid realization: 13:15 blinked at me in big block numbers, and I practically threw my phone.

“Ohmygod! I’m late for work!” I screamed and flew around the room, grabbing pants, forgoing the bra, screwing the toothbrush.

“What? Sergeant? Hello?” Kojima’s tiny voice squeaked from the speaker in my hand, but I ignored it. One boot after the other, I tumbled down the stairs. I heard mom in the kitchen, and figured I was late enough to yell at her and not cause any more damage than I already had.

“Why didn’t you wake me up!” I howled as I stormed through. She was unphased, chopping vegetables on the kitchen island like I howled all the time. I clocked the knife but assumed she’d let me get fired first before she used it.

“What would I wake you up for?” She asked nonchalantly, decapitating a carrot that I envisioned my face on.

“Uhh, my job?” I hissed as I snatched a smoothie from the fridge and b-lined for the garage door.

“Oh they called this morning.”

My heels clicked together in a halt. My back was turned to her but I could tell she’d been waiting all day to have this conversation, just by the way she was massacring those veggies. Not to mention her answering my phone while I was asleep! Without giving away my temper, I rolled my neck and backtracked to the otherside of the kitchen island. We stood face to face, and I tried my very best not to follow through with my reflex to disarm her first.

“And?” I said through my teeth.

“They said don’t bother.” She wrinkled her nose as she said it, like it was only a matter of time, like it wasn’t my third job this month. I let my head fall at her casualness. “Besides,” she went right on, scooping up her murder victims and throwing them in a stew pot, “you have a job.”  

“Moooooom.” I drowned in the syllable of her. Surely people would understand if I just threw her in the pot, right? She was nosey, and pushy, and constantly--

“Shouldn’t you be taking that call?” She used her butcher knife to point at the still ticking call on the face of my cell phone, ignoring my wail.

“Shit.” I muttered as I brought the phone back to front and center. Kojima wasn’t speaking but the timer was clearly still going, he hadn’t hung up.

“Language.” Mom snipped at me as I backed up from the counter.

“I mean shoot.” I corrected snobbishly, but then stopped. “Wait, how did you know he was…?”

“I'm looking forward to the future, but my eyesight is going bad and this crystal ball, it's always cloudy except for when you look into the past…” She started to sing, and all I could was shake my head.

When I was back in the safety of my room, I took a deep breath and put the phone back to my ear.

“Kojima?”

“Your mother has a lovely singing voice.” He chimed and I made a face at the wall.

“That is not something I want to hear from you, Private. Now what do you want?” My Sergeant voice came out without my meaning to, and I flinched at the sound of it.

“Well, I have a situation.” He continued easily, because well...he was used to it.

“I’m not in country, haven’t been in--” I quickly started to deny whatever he was about to ask of me, but he cut me off.

“I’m not dumb, Sergeant.” He snorted. “I talked to your mom, I know you’re in California.”

“Then you should already know that I can’t help you.” I fired back, wondering why I bothered to answer this call in the first place.

“My situation is in LA, and I don’t have anyone else to ask. Otherwise I would have called them.” I let that sink in for a moment, the bittersweet taste of clapback.

“Rude.” Was all I could bring myself to murmur, but he heard me.

“No, you just made your stance very clear is all.”

“What situation could you possibly have in LA?” I steered the conversation away from my ‘stance’ and back to whatever it was he wanted. “I thought you didn’t know anyone in the US.”

“It concerns our mutual friend.” The words sounded careful, even over the phone, and they made me frown at myself in the mirror.

“Mutual?” To my knowledge, Kojima and I didn’t have any mutual friends, not in the US anyway.

“If you have the time…” He trailed off, and I figured he wasn’t going to tell me anymore until I made some small amount of commitment. Glancing at the clock with a sigh, I plopped down on the bed and kicked my boots off.

“I guess I do now.”

Two hours later, I found that my 5.11s still fit, which was a relief, and my fingers laced up my combat boots as if it hadn’t been six months since I even looked at them. All in all, I spent most of the time after the call on my hair because, well...that’s a thing. I pulled it up, let it down, pulled it up, and let it down again. No matter what I did with it, it always morphed into a standard issue bun by magic, like the strands knew no other shape. With a frustrated sigh I raked my fingers through it, surrendering to the down do. It would be a matted mess and get constantly stuck to my cap stick, but at least it wouldn’t look uniform.

I proceeded downstairs quietly, hoping she wouldn’t stop me, but knowing that she would. She’d moved on to a different part of the meal she was preparing as I passed by, quiet and small. She saw me meander through though and paused long enough for us to lock eyes. Then I watched as she took in my gear: the boots, the tactix pants, the pack, the rods.

“Off to work then?” She asked, her voice a cheery imitation of what I knew to be true going on under the surface. Her expression was grave, despite her pleasant question. It was the face she used to make before my deployments; the disconnect of what she was feeling and what she knew to be right. She hated when I went to battle, it reminded her too much of my dad, but she still believed, even when I didn’t, that I was a soldier through and through. But this wasn’t exactly a sanctioned mission.

“Will you bail me out?” I asked sarcastically, hoping to lighten the mood, but she responded with,

“Absolutely,” without hesitation. I cleared my throat, not knowing what else to say, but her eyes were insistent.

“Well, I’m grabbing a train.” I pursed my lips and started for the door.

“To where?” She asked and I winced.

“...South.” I hated this part; the part where she wasn’t allowed to know anything; the part where we left her over and over again without telling her where we were going. When I looked back to see how bad it hurt this time, her face was surprisingly resolute. She looked like she always look: proud, strong, destroyer of vegetables, worried... “Don’t wait up.” I nailed in softly before escaping out the door.