#i feel brave enough to elevate my expectations this is earth shattering

[shyshitter]

not apologizing for who im about to become after the pjo show airs. if they wanted me to be normal they shouldn’t have rebooted it.

[teachingoutsidethebinary]

A New Kind of Family

Prompt request: Prompt request: During a class trip to the tower, a group of hydra agents hold an entire level hostage including the group of teens. 1 agent decided to take a girl to another room to assault her. He got her against a table but she grabbed his face and sent electric shocks through him. Now that her power has been exposed she's a target. Her house was burned down and parents killed. The avengers take her to the compound for her protection and they all treat her like a little sister.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Reader

Warnings: angstangstangstangst, cursing, death, attempted sexual assault (very brief description)

A/N: So I went super dark with this request. Tags and requests are open! As always, thanks for reading!

One Shot Masterlist

You stared at the fireball that was once your home and tried to process what you were seeing. Glass shattered as flames licked the air, and your jaw ached from screaming so much. Your parents were in there, but your feet were stuck to the ground. You were completely helpless. You finally had enough sense to try and run into your burning home to attempt a rescue, but a strong force held you back. Your feet kicked wildly in front of you as you were pulled farther and farther away from the havoc. A small prick in your neck caused your vision to blur and eyes to droop as the energy to fight left your body.

It was your fault your parents were dead. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you…

Two Days Earlier

You had seen a gun before on TV and in police officers’ holsters. You never actually expected to be staring down the barrel of one, though. Especially not one held by your 10th grade physics teacher and his colleagues.

“Let’s take it easy,” Steve Rogers said from behind you. His voice was tense as he tried to calm the other nineteen terrified teenagers in the room. Two holes from the warning shots Mr. Jones had fired earlier were still smoking in the ceiling. The keypad for the elevator was also destroyed, leaving no hope of rescue from the floors below. Mrs. O’Neil and Mr. Riley held similar weapons near the other groups of kids. You just happened to have the unfortunate luck of being directly in Mr. Jones’s line of sight when he decided to open fire in the home of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

It was just supposed to be an ordinary field trip to visit the Avenger’s Tower to learn about how technology helped them save the world. How were any of you supposed to know your science teachers were actually HYDRA operatives?

“Son, you don’t have to do this,” Steve said. “You can still walk away.”

In a flash, Mr. Jones had his arm wrapped around your neck and the gun pressed to your temple. You whimpered as your classmates cowered in fear on the floor. You could almost feel his sadistic smile against your cheek.

“I don’t think you appreciate the situation, Cap,” he taunted. With the gun still aimed at your head, Mr. Jones’s other hand traveled down to the bottom of your shirt, and his fingers ghosted the bare skin of your stomach. Hot tears pricked your eyes as you realized what he was about to do.

“That’s enough!” Steve ordered. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as his calm expression turned to one of rage.

Mrs. O’Neil cocked her gun and wiggled her eyebrows in a challenge. Steve had to make a choice. Either save you and watch bullets fly into your classmates, or save them and watch you die.

You shut your eyes and weighed the pros and cons of the decision playing around in your mind. Every nerve ending in your body screamed at you to make a different choice, but you couldn’t. You knew what needed to happen. You looked at Steve and gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement before taking action.

You focused all of your energy to your hands until you felt the familiar shocking sensation you were used to. In one quick move, you yanked yourself out of Mr. Jones’s grasp and squeezed your fingers against his skull.

Hot, white jolts of electricity flowed from your fingertips as Mr. Jones screamed in agony. The acrid smell of burnt hair filled the room as his gun dropped to the floor. Steve used the distraction to rush to Mrs. O’Neil and take her out with a swift body tackle. He knocked her out cold and pointed her gun at Mr. Riley.

Mr. Jones stopped screaming and you finally let go of his head. Panting heavily, you fell to the floor, trying to regain your strength. Mr. Riley laughed maniacally as he pointed his gun at you and pulled the trigger. You shot your hands up and used the last of your electric powers to disintegrate the oncoming bullet. Steve shot Mr. Riley in the shoulder, and the HYDRA operative knelt to the ground with a grimace on his face.

Instead of screaming out in pain, the son of a bitch actually laughed. His shoulders shook as he stared you right in the eyes and laughed.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” he spat. “You’ve just signed your death wish.” He held his gun up.

“Don’t…” Steve warned.

Mr. Riley’s eyes steeled over as he faced Captain America one last time.

“Hail HYDRA.”

He shot Mrs. O’Neil twice on the floor before putting the gun in his own mouth and pulling the trigger.

One Day Earlier

“Absolutely not,” your dad said firmly.

Tony Stark sighed and tried to plead with him. “Mr. Y/L/N, it would be for Y/N’s protection, and yours, to stay in the Tower.”

“She’s been exposed,” Nat added, folding her arms over her chest. “We don’t like what the one operative said to her about her death wish. You’re at risk now.”

Your mom laughed. “You think we haven’t been through this before?” She shook her head. “We can’t stay in New York.”

Steve hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire time. You hung your head shamefully as you listened to your parents argue with the Avengers. You knew you didn’t have a choice and that using your powers had been the right decision. But somehow, you still felt like you did something wrong.

“Y/N?” Steve asked. “What do you want to do?”

You swallowed thickly. “Th-they took away my friends’ memories,” you said softly. After the whole incident was done, a young woman named Wanda had used some type of red energy to wipe everyone’s memories. They still remembered the hostage situation, but none of them remembered you using your powers.  “They don’t remember it happening. Why can’t we stay?”

Your mom and dad both pursed their lips. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” your dad finally replied. He stood up and your mom followed him to the door.

You sat rooted in your chair, your eyes silently pleading with Steve, Tony, and Nat  to help you. But they couldn’t. They couldn’t override your parents’ decision.

“Y/N!” your dad barked. “Let’s go.”

You stood up in defeat and turned to leave. Steve came over and gently squeezed your shoulders.

“You were so brave yesterday,” he said. “You saved a lot of lives. You should be proud.”

Blinking back tears, you nodded. “Thanks,” you whispered.

You walked out the door thinking you would never see the Avengers again and that your life would start over in a new state with a new name.

You had no idea just how absolutely wrong you were.

Some Time Later

Time is a cold, heartless bitch. The worst thing in the world can happen to you, yet time continues to move on like nothing ever happened. The sun still rises and sets, the seasons change, and people grow older. It has no consideration for your pain and suffering as it ebbs and flows each and every day. Your heart can shatter, your breathing can stall, but time keeps ticking.

How long had it been since HYDRA had killed your parents? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? You had no idea and you had no desire to know. You just wanted your mom and dad back, but that was never going to happen. You could never take back what happened no matter how hard you begged and pleaded with time.

You were moved into a room in the Avengers Compound where you wasted away. You refused to speak, eat, or move. Your eyes stared blankly at the wall across from your bed as time continued to pass.

You were always vaguely aware of different presences inside your room keeping watch over you as you sunk further and further down. Voices floated in and out of your ears as they tried to anchor you to reality. Every day, strong arms lifted you up and forced you to walk the short distance to the bathroom to relieve yourself and take baths. You would muster up just enough energy to wash up, and then you would collapse back onto your fortress of a bed and let exhaustion overtake your body.

Food was difficult. You had no desire to eat, no desire to chew or swallow. Every single day for every single meal, someone sat patiently on your bed and spoon-fed you. Taste was a foreign concept, and you chewed robotically, going through the motions thanks to muscle memory.

And the nightmares. Oh god, the nightmares. Your ceiling was streaked with electrical burns from the intensity of what you saw behind closed eyelids. Cool metal would touch your forehead as you gasped and screamed. It stayed there, completely unaffected by your jolts of electricity. Smooth murmurs whispered in your ear as they changed you out of your drenched pajamas and tucked you back into bed after your horrors had subsided.

It was no way to live, but it didn’t matter when all you wanted to do was die.

One Week Later

Move.

Your eyes blinked open as soft sunlight shone through the blinds on your windows. You lifted yourself on weak arms into a sitting position on your plush mattress.

Move.

Swallowing thickly, you shifted shaky legs over the side of your bed until they made contact with the floor. You gasped as the carpet scratched into the soles of your bare feet. You could feel again.

Move.

You took a deep breath and pushed yourself up into a standing position. You wobbled as your body learned how to work together with its systems again. Putting one foot in front of the other, you carefully walked over to the dresser and pulled out clothes to wear. Clothes were good. Clothes signaled normality.

You changed and combed your hair, working out the knots and tangles until it sat neatly on your head. Your reflection stared back at you somberly. Your skin was pulled taut against your sharp features thanks to all the weight you had lost. Its pale complexion glowed eerily under the bathroom lights, and you could almost see each vein pushing up against your skin. Your eyes looked dead and empty, but each time you blinked, they regained a little bit of shine, a little bit of life.

Move.

You made your way back to the main door and grasped the cold doorknob.

“You can do this,” you whispered, your voice shocking you. It was raw and hoarse from weeks of non-use and nightmares. “You can do this,” you repeated, opening the door.

The hallway was long and silent. Dim lights glowed from the ceiling lighting a path for you to follow. You had no idea where to go, but you knew you needed to move.

You needed to keep moving.

Each step was so focused and concentrated that you didn’t even see a man approach you. “Y/N?” he asked cautiously.

You stopped and breathed heavily from your exertion. The man rushed forward and helped lower you to sit on the ground to regain some strength.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed. You felt the familiar cold touch of metal against your skin, and you looked up at him. Brown hair and calm, blue eyes stared back at you. His left arm was completely made of metal, while his right was strong, solid flesh. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

You closed your eyes and focused. You knew him. You knew his touch. “B-Buck-Bucky?” you stuttered.

Bucky smiled and nodded as he smoothed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Very good, doll,” he praised. “You’re doing good.”

Tears fell down your cheeks as your emotions completely overcame you. “I-I’m h-h-hung-ry,” you hiccuped.

Bucky gave you a small smile. “We can fix that,” he promised. He stood up and helped you to your feet. Wrapping a strong arm around your waist, he helped you walk into a magnificent kitchen. After sitting you down on a stool by the counter, he popped two slices of bread in the toaster and served them to you on a plate.

Despite the blandness of it, you savored every single bite. You focused on each crunch, resolving to pick the broken pieces of your life back up as you chewed and gained more energy. Bucky proudly watched the color return to your cheeks and a tentative smile take over your face.

You sighed contentedly as you finished the last of your toast. You shyly pushed the plate back over to Bucky.

“I think I’m ready for more,” you said softly.

Bucky grinned and tentatively pulled you in for a hug. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he held you tight a pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“I'm pretty sure we can manage that,” he replied.

Your recovery increased slowly each day, and the Avengers were amazing. They made sure each day was full of activities and tasks so you never felt alone.

You spent at least 2-3 hours every day with Tony catching up on your schoolwork. He was a patient teacher, and he praised you every chance he got. You caught up on the work you missed and even started working ahead. You would sit in the lab or in the conference room as Tony worked, and you relished in his bold presence.

Then there was sparring. Nat showed you basic self-defense moves, and Wanda taught you how to focus your energy with your powers. Not only did you become a better fighter, but you gained more confidence. Nat and Wanda treated you like an equal despite your young age. You would often sneak into one of their rooms when you should have been doing homework to gossip and watch TV.

Bucky taught you meditation. He had been there from the very beginning of your nightmares, and he could calm you down like no one else in the compound. You would go on nature hikes and sit at the top of a hill overlooking the woods. At first, you had resisted meditation because you thought it was silly, but when Bucky walked you through one of the techniques after a bad nightmare, you didn’t think it was silly anymore.

Sam was always there when you needed some downtime. You two would grab snacks and hide out in the movie or game room. You bonded over Disney flicks and rounds of Super Smash Bros. He was also really good at building blanket forts for you to hide in on your darker days. He would bring in your homework, coloring sheets, and tea and keep you company in the low light. Sam didn’t need to say much to make you feel better; his company was enough.

Then there was Steve. You loved and hated Steve at the same time. He woke you up at some god-awful hour every morning to go on a run to “stimulate your brain”, as he put it. It only stimulated your grumpiness as far as you were concerned.

But you loved Steve’s nighttime ritual. After you were dressed for bed, he would tuck you in and read you a chapter from one of the books Tony bought for you. Every now and again, everyone else would pile into bed with you and listen to Steve’s melodic voice take you on far away adventures. Steve was your best friend, your rock.

Tonight, your bed was crowded with everyone as Steve read from the last Harry Potter book. No one had seen the movies yet, so the book was a complete mystery to everyone. You were curled up between Steve and Bucky in the middle of the bed. Your head rested on Steve’s chest, and the consistent thumping of his heart grounded you as he read the story. Bucky traced random patterns on your arm as he listened intently to his friend. Your legs were propped up on Tony’s chest as he stretched out lengthwise on the bed. Sam stole the farthest corner of Tony’s pillow as he tried to balance himself on the edge of the bed. Nat and Wanda sat cross-legged on the very end, completely engrossed in the story.

As Steve began reading chapter five, you couldn’t help but see the similarities to your life. You were rescued from evil people just like Harry was. You were angry and frustrated by all of the injustices, just like he was. But you also had the support of amazing friends, just like he did.

“Thank you,” you said, interrupting Steve from the story. You blushed as all eyes turned to you.

Tony raised his head and patted your legs. “For what, sweetheart?”

You curled into Steve’s chest and took a deep breath. “For taking care of me. Not giving up on me. Just...everything.”

“Always,” Bucky replied. The others hummed in agreement.

“We love you,” Steve added. “Don’t ever forget that.”

You nodded, a huge smile threatening to overtake your face. Steve grinned back and picked up where he had left off in the story.

You missed your mom and dad fiercely, and there wasn’t a day when you didn’t think about them. But you also knew that you were safe with the Avengers. They were your family.

And you loved them too.

TAGS: @buckyappreciationsociety @iamwarrenspeace @theassetseyeliner @melconnor2007 @snapplejuice @sammnipple @fuckkoffcourtney @yknott81 @4theluvofall @capttainamericaa

[frostvalkyrie]

An ambitious cross-over work of fanfiction seeing the coming together of the heroes and the villains of Marvel, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Transformers and a special guest from the Mirror Visitor Quartet.

COLLIDING MULTIVERSE: CHAPTER 1

A fist crushes the crystal goblet it is holding. Fragments of glass jingle on the floor with the remnants of what used to be an iced Martini, now dripping on the hand, the bare feet and the floor. The man to whom the hand and the feet belong, however, barely notice.

Tony Stark’s wide eyes keep rushing from a diagram to the other of the many holographic screens hanging in mid-air all around him, checking the numbers again and again, zooming in on the peek in the graph that should not, in any way known to God or to Tony Stark, be there. He raises a hand to graze his chin thoughtfully, but when his Martini’d fingers collide with his skin, he grimaces back to his senses.

«-for fuck’s sake!» Tony shakes his hand and finally takes notice of the mess on the floor.

He hates it when it happens. But even more, he hates it when his detector of gravitational waves yells at his face that the universe has just broken. He glances at the watch on his wrist and shakes his hand again, swearing under his breath. Four in the morning. This isn’t possibly going to be a good day.

«Jarvis.»

«Good mor-»

«Don’t bother to say that and call Bruce. Right now.»

He dashes to a nearby storeroom to get a cloth and water, determined to clean up the mess. If he is going to find a way to save the world once again, he would not do it risking to break his neck on a slippery floor.

«But sir, it’s four in the morning. You should consider that doctor Banner may still be sleeping.»

«If I know him well enough, he’s already on his way here. Get a move on, now, and get me another Martini.»

«Calling now, sir.»

Tony gathers the broken glass from the floor, scrubs it quickly to get rid of the liquid and then throws the cloth away mindlessly, returning to give his full attention to the projections. A zoom-in here, a zoom-out there. Open and close windows, insert numbers, recalculate. The results don’t change.

«Tony? I’m on my way» Bruce Banner’s nervous voice echoes across the whole laboratory.

«Tell me you didn’t see it.»

«I wouldn’t be on my way.»

«Is it not because you miss me?»

«X-ray emissions went wild at three forty-four this morning» says Bruce. Tony already knows that. It is the time when the alert alarm has woken him up, not too long earlier. «At first I thought it was a neutron star nearby, a sudden outburst or something, but no, no source. It was coming from...»

«Everywhere» Tony finishes, bitingly.

«Parking now. I’m there in a minute.»

And after a minute, the elevator doors open, revealing a dishevelled Bruce Banner who clearly hasn’t had time to comb his hair. 

He springs out of the elevator. «The labs in Chicago, Ginevra and Hamburg have already confirmed. We still need to hear from New York and Novosibirsk, but I don’t see how they’d change the game» he says, reaching Tony at his diagrams. «The only thing I could link those numbers to was the cosmic microwave background, know what I’m talking about?» he resumes, gesticulating hysterically with his hands and staring at Tony’s focused side profile. «The Big fucking Bang! Now this isn’t exactly something I see as possible as there is no- wait, what is that?» 

Tony turns and, as he notices his colleague’s gaze on his now second goblet of iced liquor,  he raises it to him. «Dry Martini, want one?»

«A wh- Tony, it’s four in the morning!»

«No, okay» he shrugs and takes a sip from the glass, returning to the diagram and tapping on it. «See that peek? It shouldn’t be there. The second law of thermodynamics doesn’t like it and I sure hate it.»

Bruce turns to focus on the graph with a sigh and furrows his eyebrows. «Nothing can break the second law, Tony.»

«Exactly» he convenes. «But it just happened. The universe just broke. See?» he taps on the graph with his knuckles again.

The doctor steps forward, squinting at the numbers and passing his hands through his hair, either to fix it or out of despair.

«What is this supposed to mean?»

Receiving no answer, he turns around, face flustered. «Tony, what-»

The man interrupts him by pushing the goblet of dry Martini into his hands with a mindless, abrupt gesture. His eyes are fixed somewhere beyond the diagrams. Beyond the large windows of the laboratory. On the other side, the skyline of New York is a pitch black silhouette against a nocturne blue sky. City lights shining like stars.

He walks around the counters to approach the glass and scrutinise the view. «Someone» he says. «Someone just flew past this window. On a broomstick.»

«Who- a what?»

Bruce glances down at the goblet in his hands with a bit of apprehension.

When he raises his gaze again, the impossible happens. It’s quick, confusing, and too dark to understand. But beyond the window, right in front of Tony Stark’s figure, a man in large clothes and mounting what really looks like a broomstick, whizzes at a high speed from right to left and disappears at the sight in a flash.

Tony turns back, eyes wide open, as if expecting an explanation. But Bruce stands there, speechless and unbelieving, raising his free hand as to say or ask something but unable to find the words, once again unable to call upon one of his PhDs to give this an answer. The engineer springs into a run without any further word.

«Wh-where are you going?»

«Witch hunt, it seems» he yells back. «Jarvis, my suit!»

Bruce looks down at the goblet again and, without another hesitation, he brings it to his lips and pours it all into his mouth.

     

             It is the slowest elevator in the world and today it seems even slower than usual. She has been inside the cabin for at least twenty minutes now, and it is going to take ten more to get to the destination. 

Ophelia keeps her eyes on her scarf, gently picking lint from it as to calm it and to calm herself. It has been a rough few months. She hasn’t seen her scarf in so long and now it demands all her attention, but Ophelia can’t really blame it. Not only her scarf, in truth, but all the furniture inside the cabin have been creaking and squeaking in trepidation since her entrance. Her emotions have always had the bad habit of reflecting onto the objects around her. That is part of being born an Animist.

So, to sum it all up, several months earlier she left her home to reach the Pole and marry the most unpleasant and despised man on Earth, she was maneuvered by his family here and there around the court of the aristocracy, forced to pretend to be someone else, to endure being beaten up to maintain the façade and to hide her identity until marriage. And now that her identity is revealed, she is on the verge of meeting the Family’s Lord to hopefully obtain his protection.

But Ophelia is feeling more fragile than ever and her broken rib keeps pulsing in pain. Another shot and she will shatter to the ground, she thinks in apprehension, picturing the even more hostile world she is about to enter in a few minutes now. Anger boils in her stomach. She has no intention to fake smiles at people who disregard her because of her future husband without even knowing her, and who only see her as a pair of hands. Those reader hands that allow her to read the past of objects and the emotions of people that have handled them through history. An incredible tool the court fears and can’t wait to use for their own ends at the same time. The only reason she was chosen for the damned marriage.

Her umbrella falls from her hands again, but she doesn’t bother to pick it up. A sneeze shakes her body and her broken rib screams. She takes out a tissue and blows her nose, when her gaze meets itself in a reflection. A mirror.

Ophelia stands up from her seat and approaches it slowly and curiously. The last time she went through one she remained stuck in between. Such an embarrassing memory, but for a second she considers escaping. Where to, though? No other mirror that she knows of is close enough to the elevator as to allow a full transition and she really has no intention to remain stuck again.

She has no way but to face her destiny, and she tells herself that as she observes her reflection. Her pale, skinny face, under a cluster of knotty dark hair. The scar on her cheek. Her tired, angry eyes hiding behind the grey lenses of her glasses, resting on her reddened nose. “You can only cross a mirror if you’re brave enough to face your true self,” her godfather used to tell her.

Ophelia raises her hand and dives the tips of her fingers into the mirror that turns liquid under her touch. “Where to escape?” she wonders. But Ophelia is too proud to escape. She lowers her hand, resigned, when her reflection starts distorting. She only has time to see her eyebrows furrow in confusion, when an unexpected and unknown force pulls her in. 

Last thing she knows, she’s not in the elevator anymore.