#my marvel DR is always in the back of my mind but I switch it up

[adversitybloomed]

          Mulan had never had a choice until now ━━ the life and her families duties had been thrusted upon her from a young age. she trained for the life of an assassin. she fought daily, and learned various life skills in order to become the perfect living weapon. her father had taught her to value medical knowledge, to learn of poisons and cures, to understand how to make a weapon and most of all, how to kill with each learned skill. over the years, it had become second nature to her, to always be traveling and rarely taking time for a moment of rest. before now, she had never truly learned how to trust anyone outside of her family, for it usually meant taking a great risk and a painful end.

          but, for the first time she could say that she had a friend or two, though seldom few knew of her true history and instead only snips that she had allowed to be seen. none knew that she was the Phoenix of the Hua Clan, a highly respected and revered Assassins with an impeccable reputation. many knew her to be Feng Mulan, a simple farm girl who had caught a lucky break ━━ or at least, that was the story she had made up when she hacked the system to create a life outside the origination. she knew she could not use Feng Lian, though it was her go to alas to many of the outside world knew that and could connect her to her past.

          and while she was enjoying her new found freedom, she could not deny that she was once more being pulled back into the life she had only just left. the memory of the children's fear was still fresh within her mind and what was worse, she knew that despite her donations, the district would take a long while to recover. the incident had been her wake up call and it left her wondering if she could have prevented it, if she had not left her duty.

(   iMessage:  Dr. Lan SIzhui )  : alright, if you are sure. i will be back at the hotel soon, i just want to stop and see an old friend. (   iMessage:  Dr. Lan SIzhui )  : ah.... have you not yet realized, Doctor ? it is my secret, i am always tired 🙃

          she smiled at her own joke, mostly for the fact that she had only just finished watching the Marvel film on her flight here. before now, she never had time to watch a film, let alone a tv show. but now, with her new found freedom, she could feel like a girl her age and watch something that could make her feel something other then numb and lonely.

          while Sizhui had grown silent, she went to the shop in the darker alleyway. slowly she walked in, her body gracefully moving to look at some of the sold goods here, and picking up a few to show a mock interest. through the corner of her eye, she could see old Bai Tao watching her, as he moved to sell some herbs to a customer before bowing to them as they left. his grim face made her lips twitch a little with a smirk, for she knew he recognized her despite her street clothing. when the last of the customers left, she went over to the door and switched the sign from open to shut, before locking the doorway so none could enter through. her body turned as she moved to join the old man in the back room, the lights turning off behind them as she moved to sit.

          for a while the two talked, mostly catching up before she handed him a flash drive and gave a few orders on what she expected from him. with a nod, he accepted it with both hands, before reaching for the envelope stuffed with cash that she also held out for him to take. she knew inside contained far more then what he would make in three years time with his shop. getting up, the two made a show of being given a tour before she bought a few herbs herself for a bath during her stay before she left the shop and went back outside.

(   iMessage:  Dr. Lan SIzhui )  : my apologies, i was unable to respond sooner. i will be back in twenty minuets as i am heading towards the trains now. but, lunch sounds good, i will check on my friend, for i am sure the long travel was hard on him, before meeting you up in your suite. though, with any luck we might be leaving around the same time.

          glancing away from her phone, she walked to the street before heading towards the underground tunnel so that she could make the train in time. she was well aware of her surroundings, using her Qi to sense around her for any danger or sense of a watchful eye.

[continued] with @adversitybloomed

It wasn't going to be just helping Mulan since he had a lead but it was mostly to help her. He could understanding wanting to make sure everything was in order and her papers were official. It was important especially if she wanted to have a life of her own. As far as everyone knew, Sizhui was just a doctor and a attorney, which was true. Since the Dragon was the assassin, not that he was separate from Sizhui at all, but it was kept separate for as much as he could.

The mantle of assassin was rarely easily put on anyone's shoulders. He chose this life it was not thrust upon him or expected of him. XianXian had insisted that he would be better off to not go into the business to pursue music, or medicine or anything he wanted outside the business. Sizhui was with a more experienced killer, he was able to pick and choose who he went after even new on the field. XianXian had covered for him claiming his kills so Sizhui could cultivate his Dragon persona. The Dragon was on the top of the game. It meant he could pull strings as well, since many people owed him favors.

He had heard of the attacks but it had not been anything that had to do with him. He assumed it was rival gangs. Causing each other issues.

[text]-Hua Mulan- It is a quiet place and it is why I chose it. Its pretty safe as well. It is kind of you to offer but no thank you I always visit Chinatown myself. [text]-Hua Mulan- While that is well and good if you are tired you will be sloppy. Please keep this in mind. Most people knew that Sizhui was and remained a highly respected doctor his ruthlessness in the court surprised some but others wrote it off to it was how the boy was. Like a velvet glove sheathed over steel. The fact his father Wei Wuxian had been sentenced for a crime not of his doing, and than he death following it, had been the only push he needed. It was known he would take seemingly hopeless cases and walk out victorious.

The assassin part of him remained hidden as did the draconic part. He chose to keep his secrets for the very reasons she understood. Trust was an issue in their line of work. Sizhui, did not trust well. He would work for people he felt were in the right or in need. If he was crossed that person would likely never be found.

He was after all an excellent doctor, and organs were always needed for the innocent or those who deserved a better chance at life.

Conversation halted briefly from his end, likely when they were in mid air since he needed a quick nap.

[text]-Hua Mulan- I have arrived at JFK International, I will be renting a car. I know you have business in China Town, I will be at the hotel promptly around lunch time, we should meet than. We can order lunch from the hotel and go over papers. I will be in new York only for a few days, I have business in Dubai next week.

He hired a driver so he didn't have to wait for the long boring process of traffic behind the wheel.

It was also easier to text.

Sizhui would do a check in he always did at the local hospital to see if there was anything that needed a doctor and surgeon of his calibur. If so he would often do the procedure sign off on it, keep in touch with the parents or the partner of the person until they had a good bill of health, it kept him busy.

[crispychrissy]

Connected - Part 4

Summary: Dr. Austin's theory is put to the test, and she shows Tony, Bucky, and Steve the woman behind the mystery. Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2976 Warnings: Angst, medical stuff, stretching the medical science behind the super soldier serum, discussion of Bucky's previous trauma & a mention of the horrible things the Nazi's did A/N: I apologize for the late posting, I fell asleep so hard last night I didn't have a chance to queue this, and then I was out all day (good 14 hours out and about) so I am just now able to post the new chapter since I'm home now. As I mentioned in a prior post, I no longer have a forever taglist, but I will still tag series specific people if they request. You can also follow this story & others on my Ao3 as well. The series was beta’d by the lovely @idjitmonkey and I hope you enjoy! Please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in the series. :)

Series Masterlist – Marvel Masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Bucky made a quick call to Shuri who, after a thorough interrogation as to why he was asking, assured him his arm would not be affected by the magnets of an MRI machine. So now, Bucky was laying down on his back inside the machine and staring at the small glass covered camera embedded in the inside curve of the plastic above him.

“Stop staring at the camera, Barnes, you’re giving off some crazy resting murder face right now,” Tony’s staticky voice came through the pair of disposable earbuds he was wearing to protect his hearing from the noise of the scan. “Might sell these scans to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. You actually do have something going on in that head of yours.”

“As much as I know you want to answer, Sergeant Barnes, please do not speak or move,” Dr. Austin’s voice came through after what sounded like a small scuffle for the microphone.

Bucky blinked several times in an unnatural yet controlled fashion, and when he heard Steve’s laughter coming through the earbuds, he had to fight the urge to smile, knowing Steve got the message he blinked out in Morse code.

F-U-C-K Y-O-U T-O-N-Y

The scan was over almost a half an hour later, and Bucky couldn’t hide his exhale of relief once the table began to slide out of the massive scanner. Confined spaces still made his skin crawl and flash back to the cryo tube he was kept in, but the MRI was surprisingly open in design and not like the ones he usually remembered seeing in hospitals. When he brought it up to Dr. Austin on their way back to her office, she smiled at him and explained most of the soldiers they treat have PTSD and claustrophobia, so an open MRI design was necessary for the comfort of the patients she treats.

It made sense, and when they entered her office and Bucky’s stomach growled for the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes, she tossed him the orange he’d been eyeing earlier before taking a seat at her desk and flipping open her laptop.

“Normally we have to wait for the images to be reviewed by a radiologist, but I’m well versed in how to read brain scans,” Dr. Austin explained, clicking a few times before leaning forward to study the screen. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Bucky asked, using his teeth to bite a chunk of the orange’s peel off since his right hand didn't have nails long enough, and his left didn’t have nails at all. Once he could see the flesh of the orange underneath, he slid his flesh finger under the remaining peel and began to remove it in large pieces, trying to avoid getting sticky juice on his metal hand.

Dr. Austin spun her laptop around to show Bucky the image on her screen. It was a scan of his head, he could tell that, but the mess of swirling bright colors on the inside where his brain was made his eyes hurt. There were bright greens and blues swirled with more vibrant reds and pinks dancing around inside the image. “This is your brain.”

“Looks more like those posters… the ‘this is your brain on drugs’ pictures if they were made in the sixties, Doc,” Tony said. “I’m guessing it’s not supposed to look like that?”

“No. There’s so much brain activity that it’s likely what’s been burning through your energy and why you’ve been hungry all the time,” Dr. Austin explained. “Any type of brain activity, including emotions and problem solving, requires energy, whether it’s planning a complex strategy of attack for a mission or a simple math problem or crying at a sad part in a movie. Overworking the mind usually leads to tiredness, which leads to sleep, naturally refreshing those energy reserves. Most humans don’t expend enough energy, even when the brain is very active, to require major replenishment. Take Mr. Stark for example.”

Tony looked up and raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes, you’re a very intelligent man, and I’m guessing that when you’re elbow deep in your inventions or developing something, you don’t sleep and will go days without rest… so you find you get somewhat hungry at random times, right?” Dr. Austin asked.

“Well, yeah, I usually keep snacks around the lab that I nibble on so I don’t have to leave to make an actual meal. It ruins the momentum,” Tony said, confusion in his voice. “Pep’s found me passed out over the kitchen counter halfway through making a sandwich.

“Your body shut down and went to sleep before you were even able to replenish that energy via food since sleep is more efficient. So, that is a normal human mind.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, when Dr. Austin rolled her eyes and switched analogies. “Fine, that’s a standard engine, if you will, that can easily be refueled by a small energy source for a limited amount of time before it needs to be shut down and rebooted,” Dr. Austin said, slowly twirling her right pointer finger in a circle.

“Alright, I’m following you so far.” Tony’s head was slightly moving along with the circular rotation of her finger.

“Now, in the case of our super soldiers here, imagine that engine, but amplified almost five hundred percent,” Dr. Austin began to rotate her finger faster and faster until it was a blur of movement. “The need for sleep is suppressed by the serum, since alertness is crucial in combat, so that reboot requirement is easier to put off. In order to keep this kind of engine going at the same speed and level of activity for prolonged periods, it would burn through a small snack, or a small source of energy, too quickly and would signal the driver of the car, if you will, that it needed more.”

“So you’re saying that something is making Bucky’s brain so active, and he’s burning through so much energy, that it’s manifesting as hunger to make sure he keeps up with what’s being expended?” Steve asked, his mouth slightly open in shock. “I mean, I always remember being hungry after mission strategy and planning meetings, but I just assumed it was because I was bored or had skipped a meal.”

Dr. Austin shook her head. “Nope. You were using your brain in overdrive, doing quick calculations and mission scenarios in your head to find the best possible plan of action, much faster than any normal human brain would be able to calculate. It makes you an excellent strategist, but that kind of brain power burns a lot of energy.”

Bucky snorted in disbelief and leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “It makes sense. I was a good sniper when I was first in the Army during the war, but after Zola… after he injected me with that bastardized version of the serum… I could calculate trajectory angles and wind velocities and distances in my head in seconds, didn’t have to write them out to do the calculations. Didn’t even need a spotter anymore.”

Dr. Austin nodded. “Exactly. The serum allowed you extra mental acuity at the expense of more energy consumption.”

“But that doesn’t explain why Bucky’s brain is lit up like a psychedelic Christmas tree,” Tony said, gesturing to the laptop image. “Barnes obviously isn’t doing any kind of advanced calculus in his head right now.” Tony looked at Bucky. “You’re not right?” Bucky shook his head and Tony continued, “so why is his brain so active?”

“And that leads me to my theory about Y/N,” Dr. Austin said, standing up from her chair. “Follow me, gentlemen. And Sergeant Barnes,” he looked over and raised a brow as he trailed after her into the hallway, “please let me know if you feel any increased feelings of hunger or exhaustion. The effects might come on quickly, so please let me know if, or when, you feel anything.”

Bucky nodded, and looked over to where Steve was walking to his right. Thanks to their childhood friendship, Steve could always see anxiety and nervousness in Bucky even when he tried to hide it, like when he saw Bucky off the morning he shipped off to Europe. Bucky kept his face stoic, but when Steve hugged him goodbye, Bucky was practically trembling under the Army-hardened mask he had worn then.

Steve reached over and clasped a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

The doctor led them down several hallways, until they reached another wing of the military hospital which held secure patient rooms that could be locked down if necessary, whether due to outbursts of violence due to psychological issues from recovering soldiers or to hold prisoners who had been injured and needed medical intervention. Dr. Austin stopped in front of a room at the end of the hallway and gestured to the one-way mirror in front of her.

“Gentlemen, meet Y/N Y/L/N.”

The three men stepped closer and looked into the room, all eyes frozen on the figure sitting upright in the hospital bed. Y/N had shoved herself in the farthest possible corner of the bed, her knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. The photo in her file, and even the video of her they’d seen looked nothing like the woman before them. She looked almost emaciated, her skin a sickly pale that was almost translucent, and her stringy grease matted hair twitched slightly as her body trembled.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “She… she looks like those prisoners… the ones—”

Bucky swallowed and nodded. “From Natzweiler, yeah, I remember.” Bucky took a deep breath, fighting against the telltale tingle in his mind of a long since forgotten memory beginning to rise up like a wave. “Doc… is she eating?”

“She was when she first got here, but only if the food was left for her after she passed out from exhaustion,” Dr. Austin explained. “Now, ever since things have escalated, she rips out her IV’s, pulls out NG tubes, and refuses any food we bring her. I’m not going to sedate her just because it’ll make it easier to feed her, we haven’t reached that level of intervention yet, but we’re getting close. She told one of our staff yesterday, in Russian, that she was not going to eat any of our poisoned food, that she wasn’t some kind of lab experiment and that we were animals for not just shooting her in the head to get it over with.”

All of the air in Bucky’s lungs came out in one hard breath like he’d been punched in the chest, and he had to brace himself against the windowsill to keep his knees from buckling. “Fuck.”

“Bucky?” Steve gasped at Bucky’s sudden weakness, grabbing onto his friend’s arm and placing a gentle hand on his back. ”What? Are you feeling the stuff Dr. Austin mentioned?”

Bucky grit his teeth and closed his eyes at the onslaught of memory fragments bombarding him. “No, I’m… I don’t know, maybe? I just… she’s…” Bucky’s thoughts were so jumbled he could barely form a coherent sentence, even in his head. He made a choked off noise that sounded more like a sob before he lifted his head to look at Y/N. “She’s reliving my captivity with Hydra. This… this was after I was transferred from the facility the Russians held me in after they found me to the one where Zola did his experiments. They were, umm, they were testing the limits of the serum, trying to figure out what I could survive.”

Steve’s face dropped and he took a sharp breath in. Bucky’s captivity and torture was not something he talked about often outside his therapy sessions. Steve only knew a handful of stories, ones that had come directly from Bucky’s mouth, and even then they were very hard stories for him to tell—lots of starting and stopping, frequent breaks, and plenty of tears. But here, with two extra people with him, and one being a stranger?

“Buck, you don’t have to talk about it,” Steve whispered.

“No, I need… she said exactly what I said to the guards who brought me food one day.” Bucky swallowed hard, flexing his fingers against the painted metal of the windowsill, the cold against his flesh hand grounding him. “They were testing different poisons and how the serum would fight it off… arsenic, ricin, even different kinds of snake and spider venom. I had seizures, strokes, and my heart stopped so many times I lost count.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony murmured, leaning against the wall behind them, his face a few shades paler than it was ten minutes ago. “Y/N is reliving your memories, reliving your life.”

“We need to find a way to pull her out of this,” Bucky said, straightening up with determination even though his bones felt like liquid and his mind was full of numbing static. If Y/N was reliving his life, even if it didn’t seem like the moments were in order, he knew it was only a matter of time until she would experience how the Winter Soldier was born, how he was forged, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dr. Austin nodded and looked back at her patient through the glass. “If my theory is correct, which I believe it is based on your shared memories and brain scans, Y/N’s mind has somehow melded with yours. And your memories, powered by your mind’s energy, have somehow taken over hers, suppressing her personality completely. I don’t know if it was some kind of dormant mutant ability that was activated by the trauma of her captivity and torture, or something else… but there is obviously some kind of link between the two of you that we don’t have the technology to test for and verify. You’re essentially feeding her your memories, which is why your brain is lit up like that and why you’re expending so much energy.”

“It’s like she’s stuck inside one of Stark’s virtual reality headsets and can’t take it off, experiencing everything I went through while my brain keeps playing her different…” Bucky trailed off and his eyes widened before his head snapped to look at Y/N through the glass.

In a flash of movement, Bucky grabbed Dr. Austin’s ID badge from where it was clipped onto her white coat and darted for the door to Y/N’s room, scanning the badge so the door opened with a green light and soft click. Bucky, ignoring the shouts of his name and hands trying to grab at him to pull him back, opened the door and shut it firmly behind him, engaging the door’s auto-lock safety feature that he knows secure wings of hospitals have. The group outside would need to find another ID badge to get in, which would buy him some time.

Y/N’s wide and terrified eyes settled on him, and she tilted her head in an almost confused dog-like fashion, her eyes softening with an air of familiarity. Bucky could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach turn into sharp cramps that almost made him double over, and there was a soft circle of darkness starting to creep in around his vision.

Bucky took three large steps forward, and even though she flinched away at his sudden movement, Y/N didn’t scramble away to try and avoid his hands as he lifted them. Her weary bloodshot eyes were full of unshed tears, and the closer Bucky’s hands got to her face, the more she began to tremble.

“You’re safe,” he whispered to her in Russian, before repeating the same sentiment in English.

The moment his fingers, both flesh and metal, touched the skin on either side of her face, it felt like he was on the wrong side of an attack from Thor’s hammer. Whatever weakness and hunger he’d been feeling was burned out of his body at the sheer shock cascading through his entire being. It didn’t hurt, but it was bordering on wildly uncomfortable, and Bucky was afraid he’d never be able to let go, his hands stuck to Y/N like a magnet.

There was something different passing between them, more than what touch alone could provide. Trying to understand everything that was happening was overwhelming, but when Bucky focused, he could almost feel Y/N inside his mind, like another whisper of a presence, a ghost in his consciousness. When he reached out in his head for her where he’d felt the ghost of her presence, he was assaulted with bursts of memories he knew were not his own, images of unfamiliar people, places, and things flashing in his mind like photographs. Bucky's curiosity was almost childlike, awestruck and trying to understand what his brain was comprehending, sorting through what Y/N was showing him.

The more information Bucky absorbed, the darker each memory became until it felt like he was wading through molasses, each image being harder and harder to move past. A hoarse whisper of “No” echoed in his mind, and Bucky couldn’t tell if it was his own voice or Y/N’s.

A solid arm wrapped around Bucky’s middle, one much more firm than human flesh would be, and pulled him backward until his hands dropped from Y/N’s face, breaking whatever connection had refused to release him when he’d touched her. Reality came rushing back, and the room and people around him flashed into existence, the change in environment and sound disorienting him and leaving him panting for breath, his knees wobbling.

“She…” Bucky looked over at Y/N, who was just as distressed, and watched her collapse onto the bed, unconscious, before his vision blacked out and darkness took him as well.

***

Connected Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @that-one-gay-girl @fanofalltheficsx @joseyrw @lana-writes-04 @gia-25 @klanceiscannon14 @ahahafudge

[immabethehero]

Hero Fever

Happy Birthday Jackie! Here’s a little story to celebrate!

CW: Food, small sickness, mention of nausea, ego shipping (if you’re uncomfortable with that)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the sunny backyard of the Septiceyes’ house, Chase and Jameson struggle to hang up the banner reading “Happy Birthday Jackie!” For the third time today, they descend their individual stepladders to move the banner slightly to the left.

In the middle of the backyard, sits a huge cake. Marvin the Magnificent continues switching through photos to put on the top of the cake, squinting against the harsh sun.

An individual picture of Jackie? “So lonely.”

A picture of Jackie and Seán at a convention? “Too blurry.”

A picture of Jackie breaking his nose at said convention? “How the fuck did that get here?” Marvin picks up the offending photo and crumples it up, tossing it aside.

He settles on a family photo of the Septics, taken last year at the beach. He sighs then turns around to sneeze. He has been feeling a bit unwell since he woke up; nose stuffed, head aching, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he gives his boyfriend the best birthday yet.

Chase and Jameson stand back to stare at the banner again.

“I think it’s too far to the left again,” Chase says. Jameson blows a raspberry in frustration.

Marvin sighs as he stands up. “You want me to do it?”

“Please,” Jameson begs.

Marvin snaps his fingers and the banner rearranges itself into the middle. Chase and Jameson sigh in relief and hug their friend. Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein MD, PhD- oh you know the drill- leaves his current job of setting tableware and joins them in the hug.

“Finally we can relax!” Chase exclaims.

Marvin spots a figure out of the corner of his eye and pulls out of the hug. “Robbie, what are you doing?!”

Robbie’s head snaps up as he turns around, his expression similar to a child who got into the cookie jar without permission. His face is covered in icing. “I’m not eating cake.”

“You can’t eat the cake now!” Marvin gently scolds.

“It’s an ice cream cake!” Robbie protests.

“It’s for Jackie,” Marvin reminds him.

“It’s for Jackie” Robbie repeats, glumly.

An alarm on Marvin’s phone goes off, What Is My Life by Schmoyoho and Jacksepticeye playing. Marvin gasps in delight. “It’s time! Jackie should be awake by now!” He runs over to the door, but quickly turns around. “You sure you’ve got this, Henrik?”

Henrik scoffs. “Relax! You can trust the Good Doctor! I’ve faced down demons and evil sorcerers, I can keep the backyard clean until you get home with Jackie!” He puffs his chest out.

“Good! Make sure no one starts eating before he gets here!” Marvin orders as he runs inside.

“Yup!”

“And keep an eye on that cake!” Marvin slams the door closed.

The egos settle down on chairs and tables, relieved from the magician’s dictatorship for now. Robbie takes the time to practice reading. His eyesight has slowly improved for him to begin reading once more, and he takes every opportunity to get lost in a good book again. He reads the banner. “Ha...ppy… birth… day… Jackie!”

He turns to Jameson, who nods in approval before opening his own book. Robbie gets up to join him.

Henrik and Chase take the time to grab some chips from the bowl.

{Didn’t Marvin say not to eat anything before he and Jackie got here?} Jameson asks warily.

“It’s not like he has to know. Plus, we have extras,” Chase reasons.

Jameson sighs and goes back to reading. He has a feeling they’ll be scrambling for food ten minutes before the hero arrives.

*

Upstairs, Jackie snores loudly, drool hanging from his mouth and hair a wild mess. Marvin tiptoes in and leans over the snoring superhero.

“Jackie… Happy birthday…” he whispers.

“To youuuu….” Jackie mumbles, still somewhat asleep.

“It’s your birthday, Jackie,” Marvin says with a laugh.

“To meeee…” Jackie sings.

Marvin snickers and pulls the covers off. “Get up, lazybones.”

Jackie sits up, startled by the sudden cold. “Morning to you too, Marvin.”

Marvin kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday Jackie! I’ve got a little scavenger hunt for you to celebrate!”

“Scavenger hunt?”

“You always have fun going treasure hunting, so I’ve worked for weeks to get today to happen! There are presents all around town waiting for you to find them!” Marvin continues, bouncing to Jackie’s closet. He flips through the shirts and coats. “Mind if I fix up an older suit of yours?”

Jackie jumps out of bed to do his morning stretches. “Go right ahead.”

Marvin grabs an old suit and throws it to Jackie. Jackie puts it on while Marvin fiddles with the design. He turns the entire outfit a scarlet red, giving it blue lapels, finishing the design with a golden brocade embellishment.

Jackie gasps as he admires himself in the mirror. “Thanks Marvin!”

Marvin winks as he magically changes into his own outfit, adding a similar golden brocade design to his purple vest and turning his cape red in honour of his boyfriend. He conjures two Himalayan blue poppies, clipping one above Jackie’s heart and tucking the other into his hair.

Jackie happily applauds the transformation.

Marvin bows and quickly rises, causing his head to spin. He stumbles and nearly topples into Jackie, who quickly catches him and gently guides him to the bed.

“You alright, Marvin? You look a little pale,” Jackie says. He puts a hand on Marvin's forehead. It feels hot. “Do you have a cold?”

Marvin scoffs. “Please, I don’t get colds. I’ll be fine.” He can’t be getting sick now! Not on his boyfriend’s birthday!

As if to spite him, his nose tickles and Marvin sneezes. Sparkles appear, some of them falling upon Jackie’s copper mantel clock. The clock hops off the desk and skitters out of the room.

“Should we catch that?” Jackie asks.

Marvin waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll get it later. Ready to start?” He holds up a red rope. “Just follow the string!”

Jackie’s eyes light up as he grabs the string and trails through the hallway. Marvin laughs as he watches Jackie crawl under tables and jump over couches to follow the red string’s path.

The first present is in the bathroom, hidden in the far left cupboard: a shiny red stopwatch with the Spiderman design as its signature. Jackie squeals as Marvin slips it on.

The second and third presents sit on Chase’s desk: tickets to a concert for One Republic along with a box of chocolates. Jackie pops one in his mouth and holds the box out to Marvin, who shakes his head. Marvin tries not to breathe in the sweet scent, knowing it will just make him nauseous.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Marvin?” Jackie asks again as they continue through the house.

“Absolutely!” Marvin says, patting his boyfriend on the back. “Now hurry up, we’ve got more presents to find inside this house!”

*

Meanwhile, the small clock skitters through the house, confused as to wear to go. It senses a breeze and turns to the window over the kitchen counter. It hops up and jumps out the window, landing on its feet and dashing to the backyard.

The clock breezes past Chase, who plays a little game on his phone. Chase looks up, a confused expression on his face. What just went by?

A scream startles Chase out of his seat. The good doctor stands on a wobbly chair, eyes bulging as he stares at the little creature. The creature simply tilts its case, as if it was cocking its head in confusion.

{Henrik, my dear, must you scream so loud?} Jameson snaps, sign trembling. {You almost gave me a heart attack!}

“What is that?!” Henrik demands, pointing downwards.

Chase bends down and holds a hand out for the creature to hop on. To his surprise, it’s a small antique mantel clock. He recognizes the copper hue. 

“It looks like Jackie's clock came to life.” Chase chuckles as the clock waves a hand in greeting.

“Scheiße, I thought that was a giant bug!” Henrik groans as he jumps down. Jameson pats his back.

“What should we do about it?” Robbie asks, tentatively holding a hand out. The clock shakes it with its leg.

“It’s not harming anyone,” Chase reasons. “We’ll just let it hang here until Marvin and Jackie show up.”

The clock sits down on the table. The egos stare at each other and shrug before resuming their individual activities.

*

Jackie struggles to hold onto his new makeshift clock shaped like Septiceye Sam (lovingly made by Jameson), the messy delphinium flower arrangement tied with a red ribbon (lovingly ripped out of Marvin’s garden by Robbie), and a massager wand with the package clumsily decorated with Spiderman stickers (Henrik definitely let his daughter decorate it). He stumbles downstairs and heads into the dining room where a painted portrait of the Septiceye family sits. Jackie marvels at the beautiful painting.

“Jacques Septicart painted that,” Marvin says. “We’ll put it up in the living room later tonight.”

Jackie juggles his presents into one arm and hugs Marvin with the other. “These are all so much… thank you.”

Marvin leans into the hug, sniffing a little. When did his nose get this clogged up?

“Marvin, are you sure you’re not sick?” Jackie asks.

“Just allergies,” Marvin quickly answers, before sneezing. Before Jackie can say anything, he sneezes again.

“They come in threes,” Jackie warns.

“I’m fine- achoo!”

Behind Jackie, Henrik’s comfy armchair waddles over to the back door, where it kicks it open and heads outside. Following it is the fire poker on two spindly legs and five books flying in the air like birds. Marvin gulps.

Jackie turns around, seeing only the open door. “What was that?”

Marvin quickly shuts the door close with magic. “None of your concern, let’s go!”

“Can I at least leave my presents-”

Marvin drags his boyfriend out the front door before Jackie can finish, where a shiny red motorcycle stands in the driveway. Marvin hops into the driver’s seat.

Jackie gulps, knowing the magician’s lack of knowledge on anything public road-related. “Uhh, are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ve been taking lessons from Chase! Let’s go!” Marvin yells. Jackie has no choice but to hop on.

*

Marvin drives through the busy town square, eyes focused on the red string hanging from the lights. Jackie holds onto Marvin, clutching onto more gifts; a fuzzy Deadpool onesie, a pair of bluetooth headphones, a red fishing rod and yet another flower arrangement, this time made of bellflowers. The chocolates, delphinium flowers, clock and massage wand are crammed in the new storage compartment. Thank goodness for that.

Marvin suddenly stops to sneeze. Behind him, street signs, construction cones and trash cans grow legs and run off. Marvin yelps in shock and quickly bikes away from the scene. This only causes him to sneeze even more and he slows to a stop to finish the fit. A park bench stirs and skips away.

“Bless you,” Jackie says, ignoring the skipping bench in the background.

“Thanks,” Marvin hoarsely whispers, rubbing his nose with his handkerchief. He looks up and gasps. “Would you look at that! We made it to our next stop!”

He points up to the sign that shows a small man covered in a sticky dark substance. Mud? Ink? No, chocolate! The swirly words read “Shawn Flynn’s Chocolate Factory.” The light-beige, brick wall store sits at the corner of a plaza, dark brown curls painted to give it an inky look. A small folding sign standing near the glass door reads the special for the day: Brownies with Flower Decorations.

Jackie’s eyes light up. “You didn’t!”

“I did! Head inside!” Marvin says with a laugh. Jackie hops off the bike and opens the storage compartment, hoping to put more presents inside.

Marvin’s nose tickles and he tries in vain to stifle another- “Achoo!”

Immediately, Shawn’s sandwich board gallops into the traffic, causing cars to screech to a halt. Marvin flips toward the superhero. Thankfully, Jackie seems more interested in slamming the storage compartment lid closed.

“Marvin, you know we can always finish the scavenger hunt later, right?” Jackie asks.

“Hell no, I’m fine!” Marvin drawls, sniffing loudly. “Go inside before your next present spoils!”

Jackie shrugs and heads inside the store. The interior has blueprints of old-fashioned machines plastered along the walls, all in parchment paper. Shawn Flynn reads a book behind the display case, where various chocolate delights are lined up.

Shawn waves when he sees Jackie bounce up to the counter. “Happy birthday Jackie! Marvin commissioned quite the treat for you!” He pulls out a box of chocolate brownies covered with pastel yellow icing and decorated with a Himalayan blue poppy on each. Jackie’s mouth waters as he takes the box.

“Thank you sir!” Jackie says.

“Have a good day, lad!” Shawn says. 

Outside, Marvin basks in the sunlight as it warms his suddenly chilly body. He sighs in content… and sneezes. The lamppost beside the motorcycle suddenly sprouts four new legs and slowly gallops away. Marvin watches it run into the distance. He’ll fix that later.

Jackie bounces out with the box of brownies and sets it in the motorcycle’s basket. “Amazing brownies, Marvin! Thank you!”

Marvin opens his mouth to answer, only to sneeze. The motorcycle stirs to life and whizzes down the street, cars stopping and honking their horns as the bike races away with the treats and half the gifts.

Marvin cries out as the vehicle disappears from their view. Jackie laughs. “Well, that takes care of the brownies, I guess! Seriously though, I think we should head home.”

“Of course not! It’s just allergies!” Marvin snaps. Jackie flinches at his harsh tone.

Marvin shakes his head. “I’m sorry… I just… I don’t want to ruin this day for you. I’ve worked too hard for this to only crumble.”

Jackie smiles. “It’s alright. Shall we continue on foot?” He holds an arm out.

Marvin nods, linking his arm with Jackie’s and heading down the street to their next destination.

*

By the beach stands a store with a gable roof and stone bricks. A fish net hangs over an Indiana Jones-inspired logo: The Survival Kit. Inside, fishing rods, grappling hooks, bikes, and even ice skates are lined up on shelves and walls, ready for use. Among the outdoor items and the useful emergency supplies are cool little trinkets from different parts of the world.

Marvin kicks the door open, only to sneeze again. Immediately, six pairs of snowshoes at the front door hop off their display case and into the outdoors. Marvin quickly conjures up some new snowshoes to take their place.

“Hey Marvin!” Angus McLoughlin says. “Is the birthday boy with you?”

Jackie enters dragging a sled full of gifts behind him. “Hello, Angus!”

“Top of the morning to you, birthday laddie! I’ve got a little something for you!” Angus fishes underneath the checkout counter and holds out a grappling hook wrapped in a big blue bow.

Jackie gasps in amazement as he takes the new hook. “Awesome! I needed a new one! Thank you, Angus!”

Angus tips his crocodile dundee hat. Over by the trash bin, Marvin blows his nose while fishnets fly off their hooks and out the window.

Jackie sighs when he sees the sniffling magician. “Angus, you wouldn’t happen to have some medical supplies for my boyfriend, would you?”

Angus already has a bottle out. “A cold remedy of my own invention! I used this when I got a fever on Mount Everest!”

“I’m fine!” Marvin calls out. He sneezes once more. A stand full of fishing rods runs off with new legs.

Jackie slams a twenty pound euro on Angus’ desk. “We’ll take it.”

*

Jameson dries his hand and exits the bathroom. He hears crashing and screaming outside. Worrying for his companions, he quickly runs out and opens the door to a chaotic scene. Chase shrieks as he rides a bucking trash can around the backyard, swatting at a book that seems intent on pecking him. Henrik attempts to guard the cake from a sandwich sign and an armchair with a broom. Robbie stands beside him, roaring at a bicycle and a lamppost. Four more books fly above the crowd. The tiny clock trembles by the back door.

Jameson whistles loudly. Everyone, including the furniture, turns to the wizard.

“Hi Jameson! More guests arrived!” Robbie yells.

{Where did they come from?} Jameson asks, gesturing to the objects.

“Who cares?! HELPPP!!!” Chase screams as the garbage can resumes its bucking. Jameson conjures some magic fireballs and joins the battle to protect the cake.

*

“Come on, Jackie, now we climb!” Marvin yells as he stumbles toward the clock tower. His head feels even heavier than it did this morning and his clogged nose prevents him from breathing. He sniffs violently.

“Marvin, that’s enough, you need to rest!” Jackie exclaims.

“But we need to get to our birthday chills! I mean thrills!” Marvin protests as he swings the doors open. Jackie pales upon seeing the large staircase. Marvin is already climbing up.

“Marvin?” Jackie squeaks.

“What?! I’m fiiiine!” Marvin shouts, almost tripping on his cape. “Come on! Up to the top!”

Jackie rolls his eyes and begins his climb. “Marvin, you’re going to regret this later.”

“No I’m not!”

*

“WHERE ARE THE FISHING NETS COMING FROM?!” Henrik screams as he tries to wriggle out.

“I’LL SAVE YOU DOCTOR!” Robbie yells as he yanks away at the fishnet.

“THE MOTORCYCLE HAS THE CAKE!” Chase shrieks as he dangles from the lamppost.

{BLAST IT ALL, HOW ARE WE OUT OF CHIPS?!} Jameson demands as he slaps away the swooping books.

Henrik and Chase point to each other. “HE FINISHED THEM!”

*

Marvin has no idea how he got to the top with only 10% of his energy, but he isn’t about to question it as he opens the small door in the clock face. He blinks against the harsh light of the sun and turns around. Beautiful colours light up the sunlit room. Crystals dangling from the ceiling reflect the light and cast rainbow colours.

Jackie likes the spectacle, but can’t help but watch worriedly as his boyfriend stumbles around,

Marvin takes a deep breath and spreads his arms out. “Happy, happy, merry, merry, hot, cold, hot birthday Jackie!” He snaps his fingers and firecrackers shoot up. He feels the blood drain from his head and blacks out as the firecrackers explode.

Marvin wakes up to a cushioning object underneath his head. It dawns on him that Jackie is cradling him in his arms. Marvin nuzzles into Jackie’s suit, tears welling up.

“Jackie? I think I’m sick…” Marvin whimpers.

Jackie puts a hand over Marvin’s boiling forehead. “Yup, you’ve definitely caught a fever. Tell you what, let’s put this day on hold and get you to bed. Okay?”

Marvin nods weakly. “Okay.” He sniffles again. “I’m sorry Jackie, I just wanted to give you a perfect birthday… but I ruined it.”

Jackie hugs him. “You didn’t ruin anything. I still had fun today. Besides, we always have next year. For now, let’s just get you to bed.”

As Jackie helps him up, Marvin quickly adds in a weak voice, “As long as we go through the back door.”

Jackie chuckles. “Whatever you say.”

*

Voices and banging emanate from the back gate as Jackie and Marvin approach. Marvin gulps, a sinking feeling in his gut. He turns to Jackie.

“Uhh, love? If we open the doors and there just happens to be a mess, I’m very sorry.”

Jackie laughs. “No need to apologize. Besides, it sounds like fun.”

The superhero pushes the gate open. Indeed, chaos is amok. Henrik dangles from the lamppost, still entangled in the fishnet, Chase clings onto a spinning trash can, Robbie shields himself from swooping books with the sandwich sign, and Jameson floats above the mess, holding the cake. Jackie’s clock clings to Jameson’s leg. Around them, the other guests have finally arrived, but stand far away from the fight.

Upon seeing the birthday boy walk in, the furniture arranges themselves into a giant tower with the Septiceyes on top, and everyone yells,

“SURPRISE!”

“Wow!” Jackie exclaims with a laugh.

“Wow…” Marvin mumbles in shock.

As they descend from the tower, Chase rouses the party to sing.

We’re making today a perfect day for you! We’re making today a happy day and no feeling blue! For everything you are to us and all you that you do! We’re making today a perfect day, making today a special day, We’re making today a perfect day for you!

“Happy birthday Jackie!” Henrik says.

{Make a wish!} Jameson urges, holding up the birthday cake. Jackie closes his eyes and nods, then blows out the candles. Everyone cheers.

“Marvin, are you okay?” Chase asks, rushing over to the magician. Marvin simply responds by toppling into him.

“He got sick!”

“Of course you did, you’ve been stressing over his birthday for two whole weeks!” Henrik says exasperatedly. “Come on, let the good doctor treat you!”

“I don’t want to miss the party!” Marvin protests weakly as Henrik leads him away.

“We’ll set up a little bed for you!” Chase says. “Let’s go, Jameson!”

Ten minutes later, Marvin lies on a chaise wrapped in blankets while Jackie feeds him some soup. The superhero looks out into the backyard while Marvin rearranges his blankets.

The party continues in full swing, with people eating food and chatting with each other. Jameson performs a juggling trick on the motorcycle for the children, while Chase and Robbie have a chip eating battle. Henrik chats with Shawn on the park bench. Jackie smiles and turns back to Marvin who seems to have fallen asleep, snoring softly.

Jackie laughs and kisses Marvin’s forehead. “Thank you for the best birthday yet, Marvin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans,  @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine,  @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno, @pixelpixie-pix, @why-killed-markiplier

[btswishes]

Love me for who I am now

Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 1 )

Part1 / Next 

Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.

A/N: This is my first Marvel fic and I am taking it as a challenge. It is opposite of what my account was made, but here I go. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.

Word count:  3,281

Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU 

Y/N- Your name Y/L/N:  Your Last Name

                                   --------------------------------------

  Through sleepless nights and dark circles, books and pens, through months of work you reached your goal. The moment you received the acceptance letter from Stark University you almost flew out the window without a fear in your mind. This was it!

  Time had passed since that moment, but it is still engraved in your mind- a memory keeping you strong during the hard midterms and piles of work, even the small glimmers of regret. Trying your best wasn’t an option, you could do only that and no less. It was no easy task, lost social life as much as you tried to keep it. You were really lucky you had good friends that understood and supported you. University wasn’t easy for anyone making this one even tougher. People of all ages, backgrounds and cultures were piled up with you in this building. The best of the best as the slogan said, the ones that proved themselves and emerged victorious.

  When you were young ,you used to spend a lot of time with your uncle at his places outside the country. He would introduce you to his work colleagues and things you had never seen before. There was a time where you would spend months on end with him. Not many memories were left from those moments in your head. At one point you spend a few years with him, your mother thought it would be good experience for you and it turned out to be nothing but the truth-at least you hoped so. You learned a lot from him and his friends, it felt like each spend day would offer you more knowledge in areas you never knew of. Computer work, ways of thinking and so much more that had become second nature to you.

  The sky was tinted in a wash of oranges, reds and yellows bleeding one into the other, swirling around the sun emitting them. The day was ending, but you found yourself filling up an application in the library, covered by the silence and smell of exam worry.

  Sponsored and founded by the one and only Tony Stark, this establishment offered an internship. Being part of the Avengers, Tony didn’t let just anyone from the students attending in, even if they were the best labeled by the school. It had been a year and a half since you started pushing yourself harder to be able to apply and there was nothing that could stop you. Pressing your finger over the enter button was very nerve wrecking yet simple. Even if it didn’t work out this year, you planned to do it again and again ,till he had no other choice but give you a chance.

  Usually F.R.I.D.A.Y. went over everything and left only the applications worth going over by Tony himself or Pepper. The next 5 weeks for you were very stressful, but there was nothing more you could do but wait and focus on your own work. The first person you wanted to tell about this was your uncle. He went to work in some distant place where they had no internet so you switched to mail. Not as much paper under his name passed through your hands, as he had stopped answering you. You missed him, but the muddy childhood memories kind of compensated for that.

“Did you send it in?” the phone muffled a bit the sweet voice coming from the speaker 

“Yeah, a few days ago actually.” You answered with a gentle sigh

“And no answer yet?” the girl’s pitch rose at the end of the sentence, amazed at that what she just heard

“I know, I know. Think about it though Nea. Who knows how many applications get submitted. Someone has to brush through them after all.” defending the situation was a form of coping for you, made you feel hopeful.

“So you are trying to tell me Tony Stark’s interface or whatever it’s called, can’t sort them out in a couple of hours? Come on Y/N! You and I both know you are trying to make yourself feel better.” The small pause made you anxious over what Nea said “Listen.” A breathy start of the sentence “ I don’t mean to brag, but I think I am one of the people who know exactly how much you deserve this. You were never the studious type, plus that you were gone for years on end with that mysterious uncle of yours. I never expected you to suddenly go for Stark University. Your dream changed you, from this quiet kid to crazy ol’ you right now on the call with me.I ain’t letting you bust yourself up over this just because it didn’t happen the first time around-”

                Ding ding

  Nea’s deep speech was cut off before she could unleash herself completely, by the slight ring of your phone’s notification.

“Who tf has the audacity to text while the great me is giving this legendary –“

                Ding!

  The second time the sound sung out made her choke up with anger, you could almost see the fumes coming out of the phone.

“WHO IS IT!” a loud hiss pierced your ear

“Maybe if you gave me a minute I could answer your question.” Pulling the call down, your finger ran over the screen to the email, making your notification lamp blink like a car. Almost instantly it opened before your eyes and you gasped. The action made you swallow suddenly and cough out a bit ,giving poor Nea an idea about the level of shock you were in.

“What?What? You can’t just almost die and not tell me what is going on.” She proceeded with a not so tasteful interrogation.

“I-…they accepted my application…” at the end a small smile flowed over your lips contorting the sound coming out

“Stop!?” she choked up as well “You gotta be fucking with me!? No fucking way this is real!”

“I am honest. It says here that they liked my skill set, my grades and the way of thinking I presented in my essay. I got the spot Nea! I fucking did it!” you threw the phone on the bed letting it bounce as you started dancing.

“Of course you did! I told you! You will be working with THE AVENGERSSSS!” at some point it sounded like your best friend was more excited than you “When do you start?”

“Well…” taking a second to calm down and re-establish contact with your phone, you looked up the schedule that came attached with the email “…ok…so it says here that I will be starting on Monday so~ in 2 days? “

“So soon! Any requirements for the job miss Avenger’s sidekick?” and the teasing begins

“A list, surprisingly.” Rolling onto your back, you held the screen away and above your face, scrolling past “ I guess my first job will be with Dr. Banner in the lab. Apparently I will be given some sort of assignments throughout the 5 months work span. I will be monitored by Dr. Bruce Banner and the grading, I guess if you can call It that ,will be done by Tony Stark himself.”

“Basically Hulk will be your babysitter.” once this girl starts teasing she never stops even in amazing situations such as this one, good thing you loved her “That sounds so cool though! You will be able to meet Captain America and Black Widow~! I am so jelly of you I swear! When you leave work make sure to wait for someone from the group to walk by, omgggg I am fangirling so much right now.What if you go to dinners with them!?AAAAA!”

“Fun thing about that.” Your eyes landed on the last paragraph of the email “It says here that I am supposed to move into the compound and stay there till further notice. The whole idea is that if I do things well I will get a permanent job. Weird…” you hummed

“Weird !? How? That is so cool! Who knows you might even become an Avenger! You will be living with them anyways.” at this point Nea was either not breathing or hyperventilating so fast you couldn’t hear it

“Don’t be ridiculous.” your attention landed once more on the thought process you had a moment ago “I don’t get one thing. They say here that my PE grades combined with my IT and overall studies make me a great candidate, but I don’t remember sports being a requirement at all, or even providing them in the first place. Does it mean that if my grades were low in that department I wouldn’t have gotten the spot?”

“I guess people of science aren’t that flexible. Who cares anyways! You got in, no ifs and buts. I am telling you, at this point you could be an Avenger.” poor girl began thinking of names and suit designs for you “ Hurry up and pack those bags before I drop by with take away, so we can gossip over Steve Rogers’s abs.”

“Um…don’t get me wrong he is super hot, I just see the Cap more like an older brother figure than anything.” It was true, you looked up to him since the first time you studied about the Civil War. Fearless, gave his life in a way for his people, astonishing man over all.

“Hey! Let me drool over him! You were always more of a Winter Soldier fan anyways.” Nea pouted audibly . Her words made some lone memory pop up in your head, but it was as murky as the rest. “I don’t know why I am interested in him. Somehow his look is very nostalgic and rugged. Anyways. ”you shook your head out of the mental image of the soldier “I will go pack up, tell my parents and fix up all my documents. Probably find some stuff from former Stark employees online. I want to have a bit of an idea of what he expects and what I am getting myself into.”

“Fine fine, you could have just said you like troubled guys. You were the one who was happy Loki got a second chance after all. I will be over in like 3 hours.” She informed you

“Hey! He deserved to redeem himself, he was used!” a firm Loki supporter as always “Ok then, see ya.”

   Hanging up the call you placed your phone to charge and rolled off your bed. The email gave vague information about what you needed, but clothing wise you would still be able to come home and get stuff if you had to. What was on top of your priorities were papers, documents, all your research materials and tech. Those things had to be organized no matter what ,since they got you this far in the first place.

  Nae came over as planned and you two had a nice sleepover talking about you know who. The night came and left, letting the morning find you in your bed at 11am. Your forearm rested on top of your forehead in a relaxed manner, letting enough space for an exhale to linger in the air in front of you. Your mind was going over everything that was about to happen to you. It was one of your dreams, you worked for it nonstop day in day out, so why were you so worried about meeting the rest of the Avengers? Maybe it was just anxiety or fear of the unknown, yeah made sense.

  All you did during the day was make lists for every piece of tech you were binging with yourself. Things seemed to be in order, but worry kept nibbling on your bones. The moment of truth finally rolled up and so did your suitcase in front of your house. Nea came to send you off as she promised.

“Sweetie, make sure to call us every day. Eat well, don’t overwork yourself and-“ your mom went off with caution about anything and everything that came to mind

“Mom, you know I am going 3 blocks down from here right? Plus I can come home at any time I want to. I am not moving to Mars or getting arrested.” You smirked the panic away from her, giving them a big hug.

“Call me or text me when you get there.” Nea pulled you in, whispering in your ear as quietly as possible “And don’t forget to sneak me a booty pick of good ol’Cap. You know what they say-”

“That is America’s ass.” Your voice came out in a mocking tone

“That i-…let me at least finish it by myself! Geez!” she pushed you towards the door “Ok ok, go now before you spoil me something else” her arms crossed in front of her chest

  The walk wasn’t that long, you were too invested in your own thoughts to notice when the time and distance had passed. The glistening windows of the compound building shined into your eyes. Your lungs filled up with a breath that they kept in for a moment, before releasing it back in the outside world. Pulling out the documents you stepped in. The fresh smelling air hit you making you close one eye for a second.

People were walking around you fast and concentrated. Some looked in a hurry, others were on break with a cup of coffee and a strain-leaving expression.

 Your feet, as slightly shaky as they were, took you right up to the front desk were a lady with a dark rich red colored uniform looked at you. She flashed a professional smile, her eyes asking for your purpose.

“Um, hello. My name is Y/N -Y/L/N.” she saw the logo on your papers and gasped

“You must be the new intern Mr. Stark told us about.” She signed something and reached out “Can you give me your hand for a second.” Your fingers didn’t go past the surface of the desk when she pocked your skin. Pulling in your extremity, your palm wrapped around the spot that began to sting a bit “Don’t worry about it. This is your identification pass. Fancy, no?” she smiled winking. Her body stood up as she pointed at the elevator far in the back of the foyer.

  Instructions were given with each step of the way, calming your nerves a bit. The moment you found yourself inside the elevator she pulled your hand to the sensor on the wall next to the buttons.

Recognized: Code 2514. Welcome Miss Y/N  

 Your head shot up when F.R.I.D.Y.’s voice echoed in the small space. The women smiled giving you a small nod and stepped out of the vicinity. Once her body was outside ,the doors slid closed. Over them glowed a protective blue light layering over the material like a soft veil.

 It felt like you weren’t moving an inch. Your body flinched when the sun stung at your eyes from the window. Your gaze landed over the view of the city, as you went higher and higher, ascending into the clouds  The blues and yellows were covering the inside of the elevator, such vibrant and lovely colors warming your body. For a moment your heart felt heavy- lost memory tugged onto it again. An often occurrence lately, yet you kept brushing off as deja vu. 

Floor 134. Welcome to the Avenger’s compound Miss Y/N

“134!?” the numbers cracked out with your voice. The interface made you turn towards the opposite opening doors revealing a room as big as a hall, if not almost a stadium. The ceiling was high being the lid to this round area. Your heart beat increased pumping blood to your body, dilating your pupils at least twice their original size. It look amazing, almost like you had just entered heaven. The walls were white, the furniture was perfectly placed and cream colored. Stepping outside you jumped at the sound of the elevator doors closing behind you. 

“Wow” escaped your lips, your hand pulling the suitcase closer. So this was the common room or the shared space. The windows were so big they were practically a wall of their own. The bright rays were making themselves at home giving the white paint a new color with each passing minute. The ceilings were probably the equivalent of 3 floors in height. There was this weird feeling of home inside, a bit of isolation maybe mixed in. 

“Miss Y/N?” your head swung to the side when you recognized that shy but bright smile. Throwing the papers on top of your suitcase, you extended your arm at the man.

“Ah.” Good thing your mind automatically responds politely to people without you giving it much thought “Dr. Banner. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” you shook his hand gently a couple of times and let go ,finding the papers and showing them to him “My name is Y/N-Y/L/N.” gentle bow and a smile followed the words skillfully chosen

“Welcome Welcome. Tony is out right now so I might be the only one actively walking around the compound. Well…”he scratched the back of his neck, lightly hunching over with a sheepish smile “I am one of the people you will be working under anyways, so I guess it is good that I came to get you. I would love to show you the lab, but I am sure you would like to set up your things first.” You nodded and he showed you to your room. The corridor had 3 tall doors scattered on the walls, all looking modern and elegant.

“This is the side where usually we have our female members. Natasha and Wanda will be your nextdoor neighbors. Hope it won’t be any trouble.” Bruce looked at you ,when an aggressive shake took over your neck

“No, no. Not at all sir. I am very grateful to have such amazing heroes next to me. As a matter of fact won’t they be troubled with me here?” and here came the normal anxiety that you had for everything

“I am sure they will like you. Don’t worry about it.” Bruce stepped next to the door and waved you over “You don’t have a key or a door handle as a matter of fact. Tony’s idea, don’t ask. If you got up here on your own I assume he made the girls downstairs give you an identification implant. That is basically your entrance for everything here. Kind of an Avengers thing.” You nodded and him wiggling his fingers like a spell. Placing your hand on the door like he told you activated F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Recognized: Y/N. Access and ownership granted.

  The metal frame slid open and you found yourself standing before a big room. It was nicely furnished. The desk was big enough for you to work on it and have everything around. Bookshelves empty and ready to be used on your left and a large bed on your right flush against the wall. The window was once more its own wall right in front of you standing behind the desk. The bathroom door was opening a space before the shelf the same color as the paint in the common room.

“I will let you set up. If you need anything F.R.I.D.A.Y. is always here. The room is interactive, you can ask exactly what works under the interface’s control. The door is one.Take your time.”he was on his way out “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“I would like some tea, thank you very much.” Bruce flashed you a smile “F.R.I.D.A.Y. the door please.”

Door closed 

  Done as said and requested, clicking behind you. 

Would you like an extensive list of my functions as an assistant?

“Please do.”

[elen-aranel]

Down from Uptown

The Engineer’s Adventures

1-1 • 1-2 • 2 • 3 • 4

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday. Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike x F!Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Canon-typical violence; off-screen deaths of (young) adults WC: 6k Tag list: this isn’t the story I said I’d tag you for but it is Captain Pike X Reader @jusvibbbin ? does this count?? I can untag you! A/N: Me: it’s a one-shot Me: oh wait I can’t leave it there here’s a sequel @autumnleaves1991-blog​: here’s another amazing Writer Wednesday prompt Me: I guess it’s a series of one shots now?? Also this is super long for me having written it in one day. Not sure where all these words came from. Other writers write feelings; come to me for a healthy dose of plot. tl;dr: Elen saw the picture and thought, what if Captain Pike, but driving a speeder?

It is all his fault.

You shouldn’t even have been here in the first place: you are an engineer. Not a diplomat. Sure you had read the briefing the comms team had put together, but maybe if you’d been better at reading alien body language, they wouldn’t have got the jump on you?

Now you’re sitting in what feels like a cellar, no windows, one flickering light panel above you, leaning against the wall feeling sorry for yourself.

Still. You will admit – having checked Chris over and determined, to the best of your knowledge from your limited field medic training, that he was probably fine – that you would rather be here with him than on the Enterprise worrying, powerless.

While you wait for him to wake you take an inventory of what you have, and think back to how you had gotten into this predicament.

*

“Are you sure, Chris?” He likes when you call him that, even if you’re on duty, so long as you’re alone. “It’s a first contact, and not even with a society that needs help from us. There’s got to be someone better than me?”

“Of course I’m sure. The Eloma value couple bonds; it would be strange not to take you. Unless,” —he peers up at you under his eyelashes, mouth quirking slightly,—”you don’t think you’re up to it? I could bring—”

“No, I’m up to it all right.” You bristle at the obvious manipulation attempt. You may not be as confident over away missions as the crew who go on them regularly, and your minor meltdown in Earth’s past still has you nervous about how you may react if things go wrong off the ship, but the only way to overcome worries like that is to confront them. You know you can do this. “Louvier’s going to be mad, that’s all. I promised him I’d oversee the shuttle upgrades.”

“You let me handle Louvier,” he says with a small smile.

“Well if I end up on gamma for the next two weeks and you don’t see me at all, you only have yourself to blame,” you say with a shrug.

“Being the captain does have its perks, you know. I can change the duty rosters if I wish.” He grins back, blue eyes sparkling and dimples on display, knowing he’s won this one.

*

The first impression you get of Eloma is calm beauty. You beam down to a roof garden high on a sky-scraper, with Captain Pike at your side, and Lieutenant Spock and Ensign James from security.

The garden is gorgeous. You meet your hosts on a paved area, but there are trees and flowerbeds all around, a few little paths winding between them, and you can see three ornate stone fountains behind your hosts, the largest of which shoots a plume of water into the air as you watch. You think you’d like to sit on one of the benches with a book – you would enjoy being able to hear the sounds of traffic wafting up from below (something between hover cars and shuttles by the sound of the engines), the horns beeping, and the occasional distant peal of laughter – it would be nice to feel part of all that but also separate from it.

You don’t have too long to dwell on your surroundings, however, because the captain is stepping forward to greet your hosts.

There are two native humanoid species who collectively make up the Eloma: the Mraden who are tall, grey haired with skin shades varying from sky through to ultramarine blue, faces humanlike apart from ridges beneath each eye; and the smaller, black haired, ice-white skinned Ginera who could almost pass for human if their skin was warmer in colour and their dark eyes didn’t flash silver at certain angles. A pair of Mraden and a pair of Ginera step forward to meet you, all wearing long white robes. You wonder if this is normal dress or whether it’s ceremonial, and you resist the temptation to smooth down your red jacket. The Mraden guards standing at attention behind your hosts are dressed more like you, though; a more practical black style.

“Greetings Captain, honoured partner,”—the Mraden lady looks at you as she says this, and you nod slightly in acknowledgement—”I am Nera, first lady of Eloma. May I welcome you on behalf of the first and second couples.” She gestures to her partner first, then to the Ginera couple, who bow. “We are delighted to open contact with the esteemed united Federation of planets, contact which I trust will lead to our mutual benefit.”

“Thank you, Nera. Myself, my partner and officers are grateful for your kind hospitality.”

You try to pay attention to the formalities between Nera, the Captain, and Lakir the first man, but you aren’t a diplomat, and beyond trying to keep your expression pleasant and listen out for anyone addressing you directly, your mind wanders a little. You wonder about the vehicles you can hear. You’re on top of a tall building, possibly the tallest you’ve been on, and as you look around past the trees and flowers you can see other buildings of similar heights. You think the gravity here may be a tiny bit lower than Earth standard, but this culture really does seem to use its sky space a lot.

You’re also interested in your hosts; although your briefing said that the Mraden and Ginera were equals on the planet, all the guards are Mraden and you’ve barely heard your Genera host’s voices, never mind their names. You wonder whether they communicate telepathically, or whether first and second couples switch between the species periodically. That’s probably it, you reason, and probably the first couple is responsible for security. You turn your attention to the fountains – the middle one is in the shape of a tree, and you’re marvelling at the individually carved leaves, when Chris takes your hand.

“Still with us?” He murmurs into your ear, as you look up to see your hosts are leading everyone through the garden.

“Of course,” you reply quietly, before raising your voice a little. “It’s just so beautiful.” Nera overhears that and smiles over her shoulder, and Chris squeezes your hand, pleased.

You follow the group past the fountains and to a door you hadn’t noticed before. It appears to lead down to a stairway and some guards go through, followed by the second couple, Spock and Ensign James, the first couple, then you and the captain.

But as you approach the doorway you hear a vehicle get louder, and suddenly the guards grab you. Your combat training kicks in as you see Chris struggling – you lean back and stomp on the guard’s foot, eliciting a stream of profanities as you try to elbow him in the solar plexus. But he’s a lot larger than you and had the benefit of surprise, and his grip doesn’t loosen as someone else stuffs a cloth in front of you and you can’t help breathing in the fumes, and you try to hang on but everything goes dark.

*

It is all his fault.

But blame will have to wait until later.

You assess yourself – other than a mild headache, probably due to dehydration, and a slightly bruised left hip, you feel fine. And the bruising isn’t going to slow you down if you need to make a run for it.

You go through your pockets. Your pants pockets are empty, but you unzip your uniform jacket and the inner one hasn’t been found – the custom one you modified the standard jacket synthesiser program for, because you always need to carry more than the uniform designers planned on, and you didn’t want delicate tools getting damaged when you shoved a communicator or PADD into your pants pocket.

You always have some tools with you because wherever you go, whether you’re on duty or not, someone will say, “You’re an engineer, right? Can you just have a quick look at...” and you make a show of grumbling but actually part of the reason you became an engineer in the first place is that you like to get things working for people. You’re grateful today that that extends to away missions.

You’re surprised to find your communicator on the floor near you, but as you pick it up you realise why it was left: it’s damaged. It had been in your left pocket, and whatever happened to you happened to it first; the casing is all bent and when you try to raise the Enterprise, you get nothing, not even static.

Figures that this would happen again, you think as you examine your communicator, assessing the damage. The real reason you shouldn’t be taken on away missions is because of your terrible luck. This one isn’t totally fried, you discover as you pry it apart and examine the components, but while it will still function as a translator, the transmitter was crushed. The communicator will work again if you can find a compatible part, but there’s no chance of communicating with the ship, and they can’t even lock on to your signal. You pull out the broken transmitter parts and put the case back together, and as you bend the cover back into shape you hear a groan.

“Captain?” You get up and crouch by him. He is leaning against the wall of your windowless cellar, blue eyes squinting. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but fine. You?” He straightens, focusing on you, reaching out a hand to touch your cheek gently.

“I’m fine. A little bruised.” You lean into his touch, briefly, before sitting back down next to him.

“What happened? I remember following our hosts, then a fight, and now I’m here..?”

“Wherever here is. That’s all I remember too. I hope Spock and James are okay.” Now Chris is awake your brain is allowing itself to worry. You frown. You can’t panic again like last time.

“What’s going on in there?” Chris is looking at you, concerned.

“Just... making a decision. To be strong. It sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

He leans over and places a soft kiss on your lips, and for just a moment you forget where you are – it’s just you and him, and the special thing that you have between you. “That’s a decision we all have to make,” he says as he pulls away, thoughtful. “It becomes... less conscious. With time.”

You nod, and you take a moment to breathe. You’ve got this.

“Seems like they’ve been through our pockets,” Chris says, getting to his feet. “My communicator is gone.” He walks over to the door, which is locked. That was going to be your next project.

“I still have mine but unfortunately it won’t communicate,” you say, standing too. “The transmitter got broken at some point. The translation functions are still operational though and it has power.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’m good, but not that good,” you say, pulling the pieces of the component out your pocket to show him.

“Ah. Any ideas? Other than waiting?”

“After I failed with the communicator I was going to try to pick the lock,” you say, heading toward the door.

“With what?”

“With this.” You pull out a tool with a hook on it which you use to lever broken components off boards when they’re too small for your fingers.

“How do you–”

Chris’s question is cut off by the door in question opening. You just have time to put your tool in your pants pocket before two Ginera appear, brandishing energy weapons. You raise your hands and back away.

“Sit down,” the lead one says, waving his weapon, and you both comply. The other, also male, steps round him and puts two bottles of water on the floor, and a plate of what looks to be food.

“I’m Captain Christopher Pike, of the United Federation of Planets. I promise if you let us go unharmed my people won’t seek punishment against you, or retribution. If not, though, they will come after us.”

The boy, and he is a boy, you realise, twenty at most, snickers. “We don’t intend to hurt you, but we’re not going to let the best chance the GLG has had to be taken seriously go just like that. Sorry.”

“The GLG?” Chris asks, voice gentle. Unthreatening.

“Ginera Liberation Group. And no, your ship knows we have you, but they’re not going to find you. We called them on your communicator, Captain, and told them we had you, and not to look. We weren’t stupid enough to call from here, either,” he adds, and a little spark of hope in you flares out. “And there are 60 million people in this city alone, they’re not going to be able to resolve the life signs of... whatever you are, among all of us.”

“And what is it that the... Ginera Liberation Group wants?”

“To wake people up. To tell the Mraden”—he spits out the word like it’s a curse—”that we won’t take being treated as second-class citizens anymore. And to give the Ginera hope – that we can take back what’s ours. We don’t need their skyscraper cities, where they force us to live in the dirt. We don’t need their language or their stupid pair bonds. We had our own society before and we can have it again.”

Chris sighs, and leans back, looking up at the boy. “Take it from someone who is old enough to be your dad: taking hostages is not the way. The Federation won’t pay a ransom for us. The Mraden won’t listen to you while you have us. But if you let me go, we can have Federation diplomats come, and—”

“We’ve had enough of diplomacy, Captain. We’re taking matters into our own hands now. Enjoy your food.” He turns abruptly and stalks out, his companion in tow.

Chris examines the food – there are four pre-packaged energy bars. He passes one to you, opening one himself. “Might as well do what the kid says.” He takes a bite, grimacing slightly.

You are not hungry, but you take a bite of yours anyway – you know you need to keep your strength up. You grimace too – the flavour is a weird combination of sweet citrus and something almost cheesy. In general you like salt and sweet but this is not it.

Still you force yourself to finish it; you both need to keep your strength up. Thankfully the drink is just water.

After you’ve finished eating Chris speaks again.

“So how about getting out of here? How do you still have that tool, anyway?”

“I have a pocket in my jacket. I have done for years. It’s reinforced so you don’t see it from the outside – as an ensign my commanding officer cared more about aesthetics than practicality – and that’s where I keep my more delicate tools.”

“Ever the engineer, huh?” Chris’s expression is fond and you smile back, warm inside despite your situation. “Come on.”

He stands, and puts his hand out for you. You grasp hold of it and pull yourself up, appreciating the contact. You go to the door, hook tool in hand, and listen at it first. When you’re sure you don’t hear anything from the other side you gingerly put the tool into the keyhole. It doesn’t shock you, which is a good start, but it still takes a few minutes to work out the structure. Chris is patient while you work, not breathing down your neck. You smile in satisfaction as the lock softly clicks open.

“Well done. I figure we sneak out of here then try to alert local law enforcement. Hopefully they can put us in touch with Nera’s people, who can get us back to the ship.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, stepping back to let him take the lead.

You follow him along a little corridor then up a flight of stairs, pausing when he motions you to stop. You can hear voices coming from your left and he eases the door open then gestures you to follow again. You catch a glimpse of the room your captors are in on the way past, but happily they have their back to you, looking at a display screen. Then you’re past them, to the front door. Chris opens it as carefully as he can but the last bolt is stiff and scrapes as it opens. You sense movement behind you but you’re through, slamming the door shut behind you, racing across the street and into an alleyway on the other side before they get out. You keep going behind the building opposite, and then Chris has you double back to face the street you were on. You peep round the edge of the building – your captors are standing in their doorway, the leader berating his companion, although you can’t hear what he’s saying.

You step back into the alley.

“Well, the—” Chris starts to say, but he’s interrupted by a loud bang. An explosion. People are screaming and you smell smoke, see orange light from flames.

You follow Chris back onto the street but the building you were in, small, apparently, just three stories amongst all the giant skyscrapers, is billowing flame and smoke from all its windows, on all floors. There’s a crowd of people standing, staring in disbelief, as the last window shatters, sprinkling glass over the crowd.

You turn to Chris. “We—we were—”

“I know,” he says, reaching for your hand. You take it, hearing sirens getting louder. You walk toward the building, knowing there was no way the boys could have survived. You stand at the edge of the crowd, looking at the smoke billowing out, as the authorities arrive.

First there are some Ginera on what looks like a fire appliance. They begin to set up hoses, faces grim. Then some Mraden swoop down in a vehicle painted white with a green logo on it. The crowd, who you notice is made up mostly of Ginera, back away slightly. Chris tows you forward, toward the Mraden who are wearing the same uniform as the guards were in the garden, who knows how long ago. They’re not the same people; their skin tones are both quite pale, but to your horror as soon as they see you they raise their weapons and fire.

You’re running again, keeping up with Chris who leads you straight into the smoke and through, round the corner of the block, down the street, into an alley, out onto another street, into yet another alley, until he’s certain you’re not being followed.

You breathe heavily, holding your hip – you were able to run, and could again, but it hurts.

“That was... unexpected,” Chris says, deadpan, and suddenly you find you have your arms around him, holding tight.

“Too close for comfort,” you say, pulling away a little, as he pats your back.

“I really did think this mission was going to be normal,” he shrugs a little as you step away. “Definitely not worse than last time.”

“I mean I know in theory that away missions are dangerous, but I—I didn’t expect someone I thought was going to help us to shoot.”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Seems like we were supposed to die in that fire...” he frowns as you both try to make sense of what just happened.

“What if it’s all a trick?” You muse aloud. “What if the Mraden are the ones who want us to die? Then they can blame the Ginera and crack down on them even further. And all they had to do was manipulate some kids...?”

Chris’s blue eyes are serious. “You’re right. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. We need to contact the ship. But we can’t trust anyone, and we need to get away from here.” He eyes you speculatively. “It’s an old-fashioned term, so I hope you’ve heard it before, but how do you feel about grand theft auto?”

*

“It’s called a speeder,” you say, frowning at the display. It hadn’t taken you long to find and break into a suitable vehicle. It was small, rust coloured and nondescript – not shiny and new, but not banged up either. You popped the doors up and open with ease; not that lock picking was anything you’d tried before today, not really, but you may have broken into a shuttle or two during your academy days.

Chris had got in on the drivers side, leaving you to puzzle out the on-board computer with the help of your communicator.

“I’ve hacked into the admin menu and changed the transceiver code; we need to use it to change lanes and stuff – to move up and down.” You scroll though the options in front of you, displaying in English now, rather than the the native Eloma language. Maybe the native Mraden language, you think wryly, as you find a setting which taps into the city’s store directory.

“There’s a hardware store in a block a couple of miles east of here. I know we can’t trust anyone but I think we may have to try. As far as I can tell it’s quite low down – only on the second level. I think it’s more likely to be Ginera than Mraden.”

Chris pauses from where he’s examining the controls. “We may be better off with the Ginera. I’m willing to bet our captors were a fringe group. I’m sure a lot of the Ginera agree with their goals, but probably not their means. They may be less inclined to report us to the authorities.” He nods. “All right. Strap in. Let’s get this show on the road,” he says, as he presses the ignition.

You look out the windshield at the street around you as Chris gets the speeder moving; with all your running away earlier you hadn’t paid attention to your surroundings beyond wondering whether you could be seen. It’s grey, down here. Drab, even with all the colourful advertising signs. There’s a layer of grime, something dirty in the atmosphere.

You stare out the window as you drive, keeping an eye out for law enforcement, but you don’t see any. As you get further east the traffic gets a little lighter. You eye Chris sidelong; he seems relaxed as he navigates the unfamiliar city.

“Time to go up,” he says, pressing a control and pulling a lever. You see a flashing indicator to see you have permission to change level, and then you’re ascending.

You’ve spent lots of time in shuttles, piloted yourself in an out of orbit more than a few times, but it feels different in a speeder. More immediate, somehow.

Up here the traffic is moving faster, and you see many different speeders, in all colours and all designs. Some of the buildings have balconies with people, mainly Ginera, sitting reading, hanging out washing – a slice of daily life.

You pass a major junction, impressed with how Chris is handling the traffic signals, and the buildings change – the road is a bit wider, and the shops have speeder parks outside.

You wish your briefing notes had mentioned the local currency, not that knowing about it would do you any good.

“I think we’re here,” Chris says, as he slows the speeder down and sets it down in front of a shop. You look at the sign – you can’t read it but it has the same logo as in the store directory. “Will you be okay to go in alone? I think I should stay here...”

“In case we need to make a fast exit? Aye Captain.” You catch his eye and grin, unplugging the communicator and climbing out of the speeder.

Louvier would love this place, you think as you look around the dark interior. The aisles are narrow and full of parts, a few of which you recognise, and most of which you don’t. There are bins with various components like resistors and capacitors, and power supplies, regulator circuitry, almost anything you could want. Except, as far as you can see, the thing you need – a transmitter.

At the back of the store, sitting behind a counter, is an older Ginera female, hair greying a little, screwdriver tucked behind her ear as she focuses on soldering a circuit. You wait for her to put the iron down.

“Excuse me? I’m wondering if you can help.” She looks up and her eyes widen – she can’t see aliens too often, you think.

“You—” she frowns, shakes her head. “You’re from that starship. But the news net said you were dead. Murdered by those GLG kids.”

“You, um... can’t believe everything you see on the net?”

“They said that the legislature was going to be recalled. That your people are going to come and punish us.”

“That’s—that’s not who we are, at all. Even if some kids had killed us the Federation would never retaliate like that. They would try to find us, if they thought we were alive, and it might complicate negotiations between our peoples but there would be no punishment. But... how many did they say died?”

“The two of you who were abducted from the first couple’s garden.”

Spock and James were safe. The fist bit of good news you’d had today.

“I really need to call my ship, let them know that we’re alive. But my communicator is broken. Do you have a micro transmitter? Something like this?”

You lean down over the low counter to show her your broken component.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing I’ve got here would be able to take the power you’d need for orbital communications. We don’t need things like that down here.”

Your shoulders slump. “Thanks anyway,” you say, straightening up.

“Wait. My cousin works in a shop at the shipyards by the spaceport. He’ll have what you need.” She rummages under the counter and produces a business card. “That will show you the way. His name is Jima. Tell him Asba sent you, he’ll give it to you for free.”

“Thank you, so much,” you say, taking the card and putting it in your pocket. “You don’t know how grateful I am, truly.”

“You’re welcome, love.” She turns her soldering iron on again, and smiles at you before getting back to work. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So am I,” you say, as you turn to leave the shop.

*

“I have good news and bad news,” you say, as you plug the communicator back into the speeder and put the card into a slot that’s clearly designed for such things: a route shows up on the screen.

“Bad news first,” Chris says with a wry smile, easing the speeder back into traffic. “Although I can guess what it is considering we’re not calling for a beam out right now.”

“ I should have said great, good, bad and worse. You’re right about the bad news – she didn’t have the part. The worse news is that she thinks we’re dead and the Federation is going to come and get revenge on the planet.”

“The Federation will what?” Chris almost swerves into another speeder as he takes the turn late, narrowly missing and causing the other speeder to honk its horn angrily. “Sorry about that,” he adds, a little sheepish.

“My fault for not warning you before dropping bombs. But the good news is Asba in the shop gave us the route you’re following to the shop where her cousin works near the spaceport. And the great news is that we were the only ones captured – Spock and James should be fine.”

“Oh thank god,” he says, fervent.

You access the speeder’s admin menu again as he drives and change the transceiver code again, mainly for something to do, but partly in case the driver of the speeder you nearly hit decides to call the authorities. Then you review your route. The shop you’re going to is several levels higher than you are now; you hope your speeder won’t stick out too much up there.

There are plenty of new things to see out the window, though. As you get higher the buildings are cleaner, windows larger. The shops you see have more elaborate displays with fancier goods, there are more Mraden around, and, as the light begins to turn golden, you pass your first park, full of Mraden children playing.

“The GLG had a point,” you say, almost to yourself.

“In what way?”

“The higher you get, the nicer it is, and the more Madren I’m seeing. Obviously their methods are wrong but... I kind of get it.”

“When we get out of here, I’m going to tell the Federation negotiators that we shouldn’t agree to anything without conditions of the Ginera being discussed. It feels a little like letting the bad guys get what they want in a way, but you can’t make an entire culture suffer because a couple of kids make a stupid choice.”

“And they were probably manipulated, too. That doesn’t excuse them, but—” you lock eyes with a Mraden enforcer as you pass a junction. She recognises you, even through the glass, and mutters into a communicator of some kind.

”But?”

“We’ve been spotted. Turn left! Now!”

Chris makes the turn, speeding up as he also changes up a level. He weaves in and out of traffic, trying to shake your tail, while you hold on for dear life, glad that you strapped in.

“Relax,” he says, as he takes another alarming turn, flying away from another chorus of horns. “My first assignment in Starfleet was as a test pilot.”

“That’s... um... good to know,” you say, weakly, as he brings you up another level and slows sharply. He takes the next turn at a much more sedate pace, before spotting an empty lane in front of you and speeding up again.

“Are we nearly there yet?” You ask, getting a laugh.

“Actually we are.” As you look around you realise you’re on the edge of the industrial district. Ahead you can just see some star ships, a large freighter and shuttles flying around it. “And hopefully we lost them.”

You reset the transceiver code for the third time, back to its factory default, as Chris makes a right between two tall buildings. You switch the transceiver off completely before he makes two more turns; hopefully it’s owner will be able to pick up the signal when it came on again and find it.

“I’ll come too this time.” Chris says, opening his door.

“Thank you for not crashing,” you say as you exit the speeder.

“Any time,” he says, and you both laugh as you enter the shop.

Where the last shop was cramped, this one is spacious. You recognise a lot more components here; they’re not Federation but they’re ship components and you understand what they do.

You and Chris find the small bin with the piece you need pretty quickly, but it’s locked, and you look around for help. You feel eyes on your back and you turn to see a Ginera male looking at you curiously.

“Excuse me,” you say, tone polite and not too eager, “do you know Jima? We’re looking for him.”

“I’m Jima,” he says, stepping closer. Chris puts his hand on your back; for your sake or his you can’t say.

“Asba sent us. She said you could help me get a component to fix my communicator?”

“Is this what you need?” He indicates the bin you were looking at. He pitches his voice quiet and you match it.

“Yes. This is the one I need.”

He unlocks the bin, takes a couple of transmitters out, and beckons you to follow, keeping an eye on the only other customer, a Mraden male. You pass between the aisles to the edge of the store, quietly following his lead, and go through a doorway.

“Asba called me, said you’d be coming. She also said to keep you out of sight. You should be safe here, to fix your tech. Call me if you need anything.” He steps back through the doorway as you hear some other customers enter the shop.

You put that out of mind though, as you hand Chris the communicator while you get your tools out. You can feel tension radiating off him as you take it back but you ignore that too. This is fixing things. It’s what you do. You open the cover and slot the component in, bending a couple of pins to fit and adjusting the power output to compensate for the non standard part.

“They were seen in this area. The speeder they stole is just out here.” Even though you’re concentrating, you can’t shut off your ears entirely. The people you thought were customers when they entered? Law enforcement.

You shut the cover again and hand it back to Chris.

“Didn’t I see them with you, Jima? They must be in the overflow storage.”

You hear loud footsteps as Chris says, “Pike to Enterprise! Get us out of here now!”

He reaches for your hand catching hold as the Mraden enforcement officers come through the door, and the gold light takes you, leaving them staring.

*

You thought you were glad to get back to Enterprise after you were on Earth. But that was nothing to how you feel now. You keep it together, however, in front of Number One, Spock, and the transporter technician.

“They said you were dead,”Number One says in greeting. “They showed us the burning building. They showed us your burnt communicator with the power cell removed. They said that was the only thing that survived.”

“What’s the quote? ‘The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated’?” Pike shrugs, giving her a half smile.

“ ‘The report of my death was an exaggeration.’ I’m glad you’re okay, Chris, but don’t do that to me again. At least not for another month.”

*

You shower in your own quarters, having got your bruise treated in sickbay, trying to calm down. Away missions are still a lot. Chris told you to take twenty four before reporting for duty again, and you will, but you get a report written first – you need to make sure that Jima and Asba are safe, and that the ship sends some compensation to the person whose speeder you stole. That done, you check with the computer, change into civvies and join Chris in his quarters.

“Hey,” he says as you walk in, standing from where he was sitting by the window and drawing you into a hug, then a soft kiss. You bring a hand up to his face, running you fingers over the stubble that’s there after a very long day, and kiss him back, heated, your lips moving across his, his tongue licking into your mouth. You pull apart, staring up into his blue eyes.

“You were right,” he says, drawing you across the room to sit next to him on the couch. “There was a Mraden plot. Nera and Lakir have resigned, although they claim they didn’t know what was going on, and Tura and Sama, the Ginera second couple, have taken power until they can hold new elections. It’s going to be a tough road for Eloma, if they’re going to properly confront their problems, but the Federation will help.”

“I’m glad,” you say, leaning into him, enjoying how safe you feel with his arm around you. “I—I hope those boys’ sacrifice turns out to be worth it.”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing your head, and you sit in silence for few minutes.

“Dinner?” He asks eventually.

“Yes if we can have your chilli again. I think we’ve earned it.”

“Oh you definitely did,” he replies, standing to go over to the synthesiser.

*

“Lieutenant?” It’s two days later and you’re on your way to Engineering from the mess hall. You turn in the corridor, to see Number One standing there, an amused expression on her face.

“Commander?”

“Next time he asks you to go on an away mission, just say no.”

[themysteryofwriting]

Masterpost

Sanders Sides OneShots

What Happened Before Accepting Anxiety - what I think happened that caused Virgil to sink out

The Creativity Split -my interpretation of the Split.  Warning for slight U!Pat and gaslighting

Analogical Clothes Prompt - some fluffy Analogical with Logan stealing Virgil’s clothes

Moceit No Mom prompt - fluffy Moceit prompt with a bit of demiboy Patton or Patton in a skirt where Patton is oblivious til the end

Royality short Pat prompt - no further explanation needed

Can’t You See It - Analogical One Shot. Virgil wants the others to know about how loving Logan is...and that he’s a giant memelord.  Is that so bad?  Hints of background Roceit And Remus being himself

Who say you have to leave your past behind you - my first one shot with Rachel. Some stuff has changed about her since this but it has a special place in my heart.  Hinted at Past U!Pat and Remus being himself. Dee speaks in lies ofc.

This is the Worst Ending - oh boy.  okay this is what I call my angst :tm: If you are senstive to any of the following: don’t read Unsympathetic Patton, multiple major character deaths, blood, Sayori like scene, string imagery, gore, depression, brainwashing, emotional manipulation,murder, strangulation, eating disorder(kinda), stabbing, gaslighting There was a part 2 but......it didn’t last long, i wasn’t proud of it

Puppet!Ray Origins - the first part of my fnaf au! (i literally only have this part and the end so far).  Warnings for U!Pat (he’s Afton), along with child death. However some cute Logan and Ray interactions

Puppet!Ray: End of Everything: continuation of FNAF AU.  This time the Henry scene at the end of FNAF 6.  The fic I got to use the tag ‘is it still fluff if everyone dies’ on.  TW: Hinted Unsympathetic Patton because of who he replaces

And They Were Roommates - a hurt/comfort fic writen for the sanders gift exchange last year.  LAMP fic, nonbinary Dee, college AU, supportive boyfs all around

Prinxiety Prompt - takes place post DWIT, Virgil and Roman talking/flirting

Moxiety, Mobster Patton - again, nuff said.  no death, actually pretty fluffy for the prompt.  maybe a little kidnapping?

Movie Night: cute fluffy LAMP

Logan Prevents A Murder: QPP Analogical, Virgil debating murdering Roman

The Bane of Protectiveness: Ray was there when Roman....and she couldn’t stop him   TW: Suicide, Self-deprecation, self-hatred

MM3: The Murder: based of a Murder Mystery from a discord server, how Talyn’s death played out  TW: death, murder, vomiting, planned murder, drugging a drink, Unsympathetic Logan

How Ray Became Anxiety: Little clip from an au of mine where Ray becomes anxiety, along with keeping protectiveness. TW: character death, Virgil ducks out, Patton and Roman are jerks

Fighting the Dragon Witch isn’t Therapy: after POF, Roman will do anything to prove himself  TW: Temporary Major Character Death

Random Fandom One Shots

Peter Meets Angel - short one shot about my oc meeting Peter (Marvel)

Mitsue Goes Off:  Mitsue was already having a bad day, so when the LOV kidnaps her, she’s going to give them a piece of her mind (MHA)

We Have Mic - Mic gets kidnapped, Aizawa has something to say bout that (MHA)

Scar to Remember - Overhaul left a mark on Mitsue (MHA)

Demise Of A Gamer (DR) - Chp5 of SDR2 from Chiaki’s Pov

Friends Protect Each Other- Tubbo goes to visit Tommy during his exile...and finds Dream with him  TW: manipulative Dream

Original Writing

Saving The Moon - a short story I wrote for a contest a few years back

Never Trust A Newbie- short story written for a writing camp

The Hug Wizard- if you know, you know

Spiritfarer Hug Wizard: o w o

Soulmates Don’t Have to Be Romantic (finished :D )

my platonic soulmates series, starring my oc Ray

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Soulmate GC

Based off my soulmate story, a gc with the members messing w/ each other. Crack fic.

Chp 1

Chp 2

Bad Things Happen Bingo

The Collector - Logan collects people. TW: U!Logan, Kidnapping, Taxidermy on a person, blunt force trauma, character death, implied use of a date rape drug, major character death

Pressure Doesn’t Always Make A Diamond: Reminding a side for their mistakes was never a good idea.  Especially when they feel guilty about it like Patton did.  TW: Unsympathetic Deceit, Unsympathetic Logan, constant guilt-tripping, self-hatred, self-deprecation, blaming someone for something that isn’t their fault 

 He’s Not Yours: Patton’s parents....aren’t the best  TW: emotional abuse, yelling, numbness

Keeping Them Pure: Patton just wanted to make sure his kiddos wouldn’t get corrupted by those nasty dark sides  TW: Unsympathetic Patton, Kidnapping, Forced holding, chains

The Past Can Haunt You: Remus keeps getting left by those he cares about  TW: Abandonment, Self deprecation, Childhood Trauma,  the split, implied unsympathetic light sides

Snakes Don’t Like the Cold: Dee is part snake...so what happens when he gets trapped in a freezer  TW: Unsympathetic Roman, locked in a freezer, hypothermia

All It Takes Is One Mistake: It’s very easy for the Ego to crack  TW: Roman angst ,cracks, roman needing to talk to people

A Game of Paranoia: Something seems off to Rantaro as he goes through this game

You Just Need a Push to be Good: Patton couldn’t let those dark sides keep corrupting Thomas  TW: Unsympathethic Patton, using shock collars as punishment

‘I’m Fine’ And Other Lies: Introduction of Mitsue, my bnha oc.  Mitsue gets hurt in a fight and doesn’t realize how bad it is until it’s too late  TW: mention of blood, hospitals

They Never Saw It Coming: a small one shot with my own sides.  Warning, the title is a really bad pun.  TW: graphic eye injury

The Collector: What Happened Before: a sort of prequel to The Collector, Patton thinking over what happened TW: hypnotism, mind control, U!Logan

Replaceable?: takes place post POF, Logan’s reaction to what Janus did 

Those Left Behind: Ray was there when Virgil left them

You’ll See: From my given to Overhaul AU: Why Mitsue works with Overhaul  TW: Forced Starvation, Kidnapping, Parents not caring

Why Roman’s Sword Isn’t Allowed In the Common Room: All I’m gonna say is this is not as much as a crack fic as it sounds. TW: stabbing, coughing up blood, fighting

Scar To Remember: Mitsue wasn’t left okay after Overhaul got a hold of her

We Have Mic: Someone kidnaps Mic to get to Aizawa.  TW: Kidnapping

Don’t Hurt Ray Or Else: Even while with the lights, Virgil is going to protect his sister  TW: Morally Grey/Unsympathetic Patton, Outing Someone, not Accepting someone,  Transphobia?, mentions of fighting someone

Even In The Face Of Death, Logan Ignores His Feelings - a day to relax goes wrong when Remus decides to mess with Logan  TW: blood, stabbing

Trapped- Virgil gets kidnapped while out in the imagination.  It doesn’t go well. TW: kidnapping, panic attack, flashbacks, claustrophobia, implied pranking, implied fighting

Who Knew Sleep Paralysis Could Be Deadly?- Talent Swap AU with Makoto and Kyoko  TW: stabby stab, K-nife, sickness, sleep paralysis

Kokichi’s Sacrifice - Kokichi’s POV of Chp 4  TW: major character death, strangulation

A Well Needed Lesson - Byakuya has had enough of the Ultimate Lucky Student, Kyoko responds in return

Oh Look, A Yandere - Mic gets kidnapped by a yandere and has to try to escape TW: Yandere, kidnapping

Bad Things Happen Bingo Part 2: New Card, New Category

To Manipulate A Protector -Orange goes after Virgil? Or is that just a trick? TW: Kidnapping, implied fighting, manipulation, being controlled

Some Apologies Go Nowhere - after chp 4, Kokichi tries to apologize to Shuichi. Key word there is try

No One Noticed...- What if Shiro hadn’t been the only one Replaced? TW: Abandonment, heavy doubt, replaced and not noticed

Of All People Why’d it have to be Deku? - Bakugou and Midoryia switch bodies. Chaos ensues. TW:… cussing I guess?

A Broken Disc- Spoilers for the March 1st Tommyinnit Stream  TW: Major Character Death, Attempted Manipulation, Flashbacks

not again...: Nagito gets kidnapped...again  TW: kidnapping, locked in small place

Goodbye Green- Who ever said the Creativity twins were supposed to be separated?  TW: Morally Grey Patton, having to leave someone you care about

One Step Behind: Phil’s POV of what happened that fateful day  TW: Major Character Death, Stabbing, Bleeding Out, Explosions

Adrien’s Realization

Lila Bashing fic where Adrien finally realizes that ‘Hey what Lila is doing to me isn’t good’

Chp 1-  TW: Unrequited flirting, unrequited crush, Lila hate(?)

Chp 2- TW:Self doubt, bad advice

Another Path

After All Might tells Izuku he can’t be hero, Izuku decides it might be better to take another path to help people. Planned mix of actual story and chat fic

TW: slight All Might bashing

Prologue

Chp 1

Chp 2

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 22

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,457

Warnings: Breath play with a belt, p in v, doggy style.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my breath play square.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you and Spencer talk a lot about how you want to expand your family. The more you think about, the more sure you are in your decision, but bringing it up to Spencer as a finality is a little nerve-wracking. Again, you have no idea why. You know exactly how Spencer will react.

Charlotte is just a week shy of her first birthday. It’s astounding that she’s already growing into this whole little person. As Spencer cuts up some scrambled egg and banana (her favorites), you decide to bring it up. “So you wanted to know how I felt about another pregnancy versus adoption and told me to take my time, right?”

“Yea,” he replies, almost buoyantly. Your relationship with him, your family -  it’s his pride and joy. If it weren’t for the fact that you were tired as all hell right after Charlotte was born, he would’ve had your desired three children all at once. Honestly, you would have too. “Have you decided?”

Nodding, you wait until he turns around, lovingly placing some food down on Charlie’s high-chair. “As much as I loved being pregnant, I think for my self-image and the fact that I’ve always wanted to adopt, I want to go with adoption. That okay?” You ask, nibbling on your lip. You know it is. You know Spencer. But something deep in the back of your head always worries. You’re a work in progress.

Spencer dips down to kiss you, whispering softly in response. “More than okay. Now we have to look into adoption agencies.” His easy, excited smile makes you feel a million times better in an instant. “What about closed or open adoption?”

“As long as the parent or parents want to be involved, I’m okay with that to an extent. Like I wouldn’t want them visiting once a week because that would be confusing to the baby as they grow, I feel, but like texting them updates and meeting up with them every so often I would be fine with. You?”

Thankfully, he feels the same way.

While Charlotte eats, the two of you talk more about what adoption means for your family. Especially when it comes to being chosen. Sometimes it’s months, sometimes it’s a lot more than that. On top of that, open adoptions come with more complications. Since the birth mother chooses the adoptive family, there’s the possibility that she will change her mind at the last second, so it’s a reality you have to come to terms with, no matter how difficult.

With orange juice for toasting, you clink your glasses. “To baby number two.”

---

The tenseness that settled into your shoulders during all this finally dissipates once a decision is reached. And it feels amazing. Even though it took almost the entire year to feel comfortable in your skin again, in your relationship with Spencer, as both his wife and his sub, you’re feeling confident in all aspects of your life. You’re not a perfect mother, but no one is. You’re not a perfect wife, but what is perfect and perfect is bullshit. And as a sub, you are as fulfilled as you’ve ever been.

“What’s so funny?” Spencer asks.

After putting Charlotte down to sleep for the night, you climb into bed and snuggle into Spencer. Whenever he reads to you, there’s nothing to worry about. Everything going through your brain comes to a full stop. “Nothing, I’m just happy. Finding our routine with Charlotte around has been difficult and it’s taken me about a year to stop looking in the mirror and putting so much stock in what I see, and I just...feel good.”

Slipping a bookmark in between the pages (more for you than him because he can always remember exactly where you left off down to the word), he places it back on the bedside table. “Want me to make you feel really good?” He asks rhetorically, knowing your answer. “Because I’ve got an idea.”

You lie back and pull the t-shirt you’re wearing over your head. Your attention is focused completely on him as he reaches down to the side of the bed to grab his belt. At first you think you’re in for a spanking and your pussy starts to quiver, but then he wraps it gently around your throat and you just give yourself over to him.

Playing around with the belt has happened before, but Spencer practiced on himself first, wrapping the belt around his own throat so he could make sure he wouldn’t be hurting you or impeding your ability to breathe more than you wanted him to. As the leather slipped gently around your neck, you gave yourself over to him and shut down all mental faculties. “On your hands and knees.”

Doing as he instructs, you rest your head against the soft blanket and whimper when he tugs on the free end of the belt. You push back into him, searching for him, but his hand remains still and the belt keeps you in place. “Does my little slut like putting her life in my hands?”

“Yes, Sir.” There’s something about knowing implicitly that Spencer could end your life right here and now but wanting to do the exact opposite that allows you that release, the ability to literally give over all semblance of control. “I trust you.”

He bends down and kisses the small of your back, every word he could possibly say rolled up into that one gesture. When he yanks on the belt again, gently bringing you into an all-fours position, your mouth drops open and you arch your back, shaking your ass a little for him. Spencer smacks your ass and grunts in appreciation, pulling you back against his still clothed length. “How badly do you want my cock?”

“So badly, Sir,” you whine, bucking back into him. “Please use me. I want you to. I need you to.”

Eyeing you hungrily, he bites the corner of his lip and lets the belt fall to the bed. “Show me while I undress and then I’ll give you what you need.”

While he hooks his thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down, you move your ass up and down on his length, feeling the hardening length of him press against your skin. Every move makes you more and more wet. Without thinking, Spencer bucks his own hips forward; he’s close and yet so far. Quickly, he moves backward off the bed. He can’t get his pants off fast enough.

Climbing back onto the mattress, you feel the dip and let out a slow, guttural moan when he pushes inside you with one swift movement. “Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck me, Spence.”

When his grip tightens on the belt, you’re slack-jawed, tuning everything around you out. You don’t want to think anything. You don’t want to see anything. You don’t want to hear anything. All you want to do is feel. His cock sliding in and out of you. Your arousal slipping down your leg. The tension on the belt around your throat cutting off just the right amount of air.

Every feeling starts to sharpen. You feel fuller and the belt tightens more. Air is minimal but none of that matters because you feel like you could float among the fucking stars. As you fall over the edge, Spencer tightens the belt again, helping pull you into the hypnotizing trance for just a little while longer.

When Spencer pulls out and comes onto your ass, you’re still quivering, hot and cold switching places in rolling succession. “God, I love belts,” you giggle softly as he pulls it off and tosses it back on the floor. He gathers you into his arms and clumsily crosses the mattress on his knees to set you back down on the pillows. He comes to lie behind you with every inch of him against your back. Both of you can’t help but yawn. In his arms, comfort lulls you to sleep.

---

The next day after you both got back from work and began preparing dinner, you flip open your laptop and start searching out adoption agencies in DC and Maryland and Virginia. You and Spencer take turns cooking and seeking out agencies, discussing each one and trying to figure out which one is the best fit for you. “What about this one?” Spencer asks, slipping a piece of banana into Charlotte’s mouth. “Cradle of Hope.”

You shut the stove off and sit in Spencer’s lap, glancing at the website and reading their about page. “Wanna call tomorrow?” You ask, smiling at Charlotte mashing a banana on her high-chair.

“Yes, please. I think Charlie needs a brother or sister.”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[elentiyawhitethorn]

The Bet | Chapter Four

Day 9 (Part One)

The rest of the week passed without any further trouble. No more calls from Tamlin. No more visits from Rhys. He didn’t text her either, despite Mor giving him Feyre’s number over a week ago. Just Feyre painting in her studio, filling a wall with her work. She’d contacted some people about selling already and she was feeling good.

That is, until Friday rolled around. Therapy day. Feyre walked from her studio, still wearing paint-splattered clothes, to the subway. As she entered the nearest station, only a couple of streets away, Feyre marveled at how easy it was to travel in New York in this area without a vehicle.

Finally, at precisely 3:22, Feyre walked into a nice-sized building. There were paintings on the wall with pastel colors. The walls were a soft grey. Two cushioned sofas were back-to-back in the middle of the waiting room. Leather chairs were methodically placed against one wall. A low table was sitting between the chairs and the sofas.

Feyre headed towards the receptionist’s desk, trying to pretend she wasn’t shaking. The receptionist greeted her, his voice making Feyre think it was the same man who had made her appointment over the phone.

She checked in, verifying her identity and the payment, then took a seat on one of the chairs. Two middle-aged men and one older woman were also seated in the room, one of them reading one of the magazines scattered across the table, the others just sitting and waiting.

Feyre was nervous. Okay, that was a bit of an understatement. Breathe. Just breathe. One of the men was called back to an office. Then the woman to another. Several minutes later, a woman with raven hair, perhaps in her late forties, said, “Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre stood and walked to the woman, who smiled and led her to a room down the hallway. It was decorated, very similarly as in the waiting room, in calming tones.

“I’m Dr. Suriel, but you can call me Liz. Please, take a seat.”

Feyre did as she was told and said, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Dr. Suriel gave a kind smile and sat in a seat opposite Feyre, a small table in between them. “You seem very anxious. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

Feyre took a breath. “Um, okay. I’m dealing with trauma from... I... my fiancé was abusive and...”

“Would you like some tea?” Feyre was surprised at the change in subject. Dr. Suriel smiled. “It always calms me down.”

Feyre nodded gratefully. “Yes, please.”

She stood and walked to a modernized kettle plugged in at the back and flipped the switch. The water was already inside, probably in anticipation of a fidgety client.

“Take a deep breath, Feyre. You don’t need to tell me anything you’re not ready to.” Feyre tried to steady her breathing as commanded as Dr. Suriel poured the steaming water into a mug with a tea bag inside. She walked back over and placed the mug on a coaster on the table. Feyre thanked the doctor and took a sip.

“What is the first emotion that comes to mind when you think of your former fiancé?”

“Terror,” Feyre answered immediately.

“And what makes you feel this way?”

Feyre didn’t have to think hard for this one either. “He trapped me. I feel so helpless, so insignificant when he’s around.”

Dr. Suriel asked, “Did you love him at any point in time?”

Feyre frowned. “Yes. I did.”

“Why?” Not an accusatory question, just curiosity.

“Because I thought he loved me. Because he was nice to me. He bought me presents, he gave me time and supplies to paint, like I’d always wanted. And because I could depend on him. I didn’t have to take care of anyone. Or myself.” Feyre lowered her head in shame.

Dr. Suriel’s voice didn’t change from her kind, sympathetic tone. Years of dealing with broken fools like me, Feyre thought, rather morbidly. “Have you had to take care of anyone in the past?”

“My sisters and my father. My mother died when I was little, and I got a job to support my family when I was fourteen. Since none of them would.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “That seems like a very brave thing to do.” Feyre just shrugged. “How did you meet your former fiancé?”

“I worked through all of high school, like I said. Once my sisters moved out to go to college and do what they wanted, it was easier to support my father and myself. I started to start saving any money I could.

“Eventually it was enough that college started to look like a possibility. I got a scholarship that helped tremendously, a painting scholarship. I went through all of university and not long after, I started trying to figure out how to begin my career as an artist.”

Feyre paused for a second to gather her thoughts, Dr. Suriel listening all the while. “It was at an art gallery that I met him, a very upscale one that I had won a ticket to. He was standing over by some Monets...”

-

Nine Months Ago

“Excuse me, sir, I need to get through. Sorry.” Feyre trying to get past a very imposing man blocking the exit of the gallery. Too many people were crowded around the genuine Monets, making it hard to get by.

“My apologies. It’s very crowded in here, isn’t it?”

Feyre smiled and nodded faintly, wondering why he wasn’t moving.

The man smiled. “What’s your name?”

Feyre hesitated. Normally it wasn’t a good idea to give your name to strangers, but what harm could giving the man her first name do? “Feyre.”

He smiled again. “That’s a very pretty name. I’m Tamlin. Would you like to go out for drinks with me sometime?”

Feyre blinked. The man, Tamlin, wasn’t trying to be creepy. He was flirting... with her? Despite his far-too-forward manor, and apparent lack of flirting skills, the fact that someone wanted to go out with her, that someone had noticed her at all...

“I would love to. I need to get to work now, but here’s my number.” Perhaps not the best idea to give your number to someone you’ve just met who’s blocking the exit of a room, but Feyre was excited. She hadn’t been noticed in some time. She pulled a crumpled receipt out of her purse and scribbled her number on it, grinning.

Tamlin accepted the receipt with a flourish. “I’ll be sure to call.” He stepped out of her way. Feyre walked past him, not taking her eyes off him. He was relatively good-looking and was still watching her. Feyre had a shy smile plastered across her face. Someone had asked her on a date!

Having not turned her head, Feyre of course ran into someone. Very smooth, Feyre. She heard a soft chuckle from behind her that she just knew belonged to Tamlin, but Feyre refused to look, instead facing the person she’d nearly mowed over. “I’m so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going,” Feyre apologized.

Her victim, a man with red hair and a prosthetic eye, smiled. “No worries. Ladies tend to have a hard time taking their eyes off of Tam.”

“You know him?” Feyre asked.

The red-haired man sighed. “We’re best friends. Today he’s decided to drag me out to an art exhibit, as you can see.” He said this last part a little more loudly with a pointed look in Tamlin’s direction. “Anyway, I’m Lucien. Nice to meet you.”

“Feyre,” she replied. “I really should be going, but it was nice to meet you as well.”

She hurried down the sidewalk to the office building where she had a small job as a secretary. Anything to support herself as she started painting. Feyre’s boss gave her a disapproving glare as she arrived, making Feyre fully aware of the fact that she was late. But it was worth it.

-

“When you met him, you chose to fall for him because he made you feel wanted,” Dr. Suriel said.

“Yes,” Feyre replied, though it hadn’t entirely been a question.

“And you did meet him, and continue to?”

“Yes,” she said again. “He called me the next day. It took a minute to fit it in our schedules, but we decided on drinks at the end of the week. We went, talked, mostly he told me about his job as the head of a company and how rich he was. I thought he was a bit too much of a show-off, but he was nice. He paid attention to me and he paid for the drinks. That was about as good as anyone had been to me in a long while, so when he offered to take me to dinner next time, I accepted.” Feyre sighed.

“Where did things start to go wrong?” Dr. Suriel asked.

Another sigh came out of Feyre. “Honestly, I think there was always something wrong. He was too obsessive, too boastful, too clingy. But it was really apparent about three months into our relationship, when I moved in with him.

“He asked me to start with. I was hesitant. I told him that I wasn’t ready. That I liked my apartment and I was going to stay a little longer. He claimed I didn’t love him. Said that if I really wanted to be with him I would live with him.

“I should have broken things off with him then and there, but I didn’t. I let him talk me into moving in with him, because he had been so nice, and I had hoped the aggression was a one-time thing.

“I am a feminist. I believe that no one, no matter their gender, should be bullied into a relationship. Yet I let that happen to myself. Why did I do that, Dr. Suriel?” Feyre finished with a shuddering breath.

Dr. Suriel smiled sadly. “Call me Liz, remember? And Feyre, I don’t think you are any less brave for letting that happen. Here.” She passed a box of tissues to Feyre, who only just realized she was silently crying. Once Feyre took a tissue and blew her nose, Dr. Suriel - Liz - continued, “You needed someone to care for you as you got your footing in life. There’s nothing wrong with that. And when that someone pressured you, thoughts of their kindness influenced your decision. Again, no problem with you. I think this man is the one with some serious issues.”

Feyre snorted. “You’re not wrong there.”

“Did things get better once you moved in with him?”

Feyre thought that the doctor probably already knew the answer to that. Still, she said, “No. They got worse. He wanted me to spend more time in his house. Thought I should quit my job. It was my only independence left, so I refused. He saw how adamant I was and backed down, for then at least.

“But he convinced me to stay at home more. In his big-ass mansion. Please excuse my language. I told you he’s rich, but that’s not the half of it. He’s a fucking millionaire. Sorry about the language again.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “I don’t mind. Vent if you need to.”

“Thank you.” Feyre returned the smile, then continued. “Half the rooms in his house he didn’t use. I found an old art gallery in one room, just left there with the door locked. A shame, really. I opened it up and went there often - the paintings were very calming.

“He saw how much I wanted to paint, how it influenced everything I did, but he looked at it less like a career and more like a hobby. He told me he could buy me any paints I wanted, that I could just sit and paint pretty pictures all day. I refused, but he said that painting wasn’t a real way to make a living, and I should just be a housewife.

“I was also finally pressured into quitting my job. He couldn’t understand why I wanted to keep it, because I didn’t even like working there. I had been doing it for money and now that I lived in his house I didn’t need money. Finally, I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I turned in my resignation. It only got worse from there...”

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 30: Daddy Lessons

Necromancy

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, you're outside Thurman's bunker. There's a... there's a lovely occult sigil of uh... a bleeding eye on the door. And we don't know what's inside, so warm up just in case. Stretch, jog on the spot, whatever you need. I want you ready for anything. [sighs] I wish I could say I'm not scared, but I know we're both scared. It doesn't feel like three days since you got out of the underground village, does it? It-it sort of like feels like-like a couple of hours and also about two years.

Okay, briefing Janine-style always seems to help me focus. I have carefully checked every single camera in Spectrum Mall, but there's been no sign of Thurman since he left you in the dumbwaiter. Zombies don't notice him, so maybe he went out into the horde? The point is this might be our only chance to find out more about him. Specifically, how he can be in two places at once. Oh, and oh yeah, the bunker's locked with a code. The tape you took from the longevity research lab says where it is. Give it another play.

DR. MCBRIDE: April 9th, 1991. Dr. McBride. I've heard keeping a diary can help one make sense of things, and I refuse to lose my mind. Seven months ago, Artemus Thurman fired me for excessive altruism. Weeks later, I watched on my sofa as he attempted the highest ski jump ever built. I was willing him to fail, but only so he'd embarrass himself. I still see his neck snap when I close my eyes. I saw his funeral on the BBC News. It felt like I’d killed him, somehow.

Except two weeks ago, Thurman turned up at my door in the middle of the night and forced me at gunpoint to come with him back to my old lab. It's deserted. He won't explain how he survived, only says, “Prepare the bunker for my son. He'll be here once the dust's cleared, and there are things inside that explain everything.” The gossip pages say his son hates him. He wasn't at the funeral. Maybe he knew it was fake, but I can't say that to Thurman. If I disagree with him on anything, it's like he doesn't even hear me. I'm too afraid to argue.

He's different now to how he was before, some sort of monomania, and he keeps talking about the occult, secret knowledge that will help the chosen to survive. He asked me more than once if I would participate in the ritual with him, and I'm too afraid to answer. There's something else I'm afraid of. Thurman left tins of food, but they're running low. If he doesn't bring some more soon, I'm opening the bunker myself. He told me often enough the code for the bunker is engraved on the frame of Brandon's portrait in the Thurmanville labs.

SAM YAO: Stop the tape, Five. It gets a bit grim once McBride realizes Thurman's locked her in the lab and all he's sending her is plastic fruit. Okay, I'm looking for a portrait. Mmm... Ah! Yeah, I can see it. Boy in a suit, but uh, the actual face has been cut out. That's creepy. Still, I've got the bunker code on cams. It's um, 1875. Oh, that didn't work. I'm missing something. Keep warming up, and I'll figure out how to get you in.

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, I've worked it out. The bunker lock’s electronic and the power's down, but the door's hooked up to the generator, so you just need to crank it up with some bicep curls. So press your elbows into your sides, forearms down, palms facing forwards. Grab the bar with both hands. Now it looks heavy, about the weight of a couple of tin cans? Now bend your elbows to lift the crank to your shoulders, then lower it back down. Careful, don't hurt yourself. It should take a minute.

Janine's been looking into some occult stuff since McBride mentioned it. She says Thurman was probably using fear of the supernatural as a way to control and manipulate his employees. She also says 1875 is the year that occultist Aleister Crowley was born. The occult sigil on the door, I wonder if it was from one of Crowley's books. Apparently, Crowley wrote about being in two places at once via astral travel, but the occult isn't real. Janine says, "There will be a rational explanation, Mr. Yao," and she's right, obviously. But there's something seriously weird going on.

Okay, you've got the generator working, Five. Try the code again. 1875. Yes, the bunker's open, but you might want to crank the generator a little longer. Don't want the power going out while you're inside.

~

SAM YAO: All right, Five, time to enter Thurman's bunker.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Brandon! Here at last.

SAM YAO: That's a recording, Five. Brandon was Thurman's son. He obviously thought only Brandon would make it in here.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: I trust your journey to post-apocalyptic England wasn't too arduous. I'm serious. If it's still a nuclear wasteland, go to the decontamination suite for three weeks and reread my autobiography. You've got a lot to live up to. You can't just rely on your Thurman genes. They're diluted by your mother’s. Penelope raised you to be a sissy, mommy's boy.

You were almost six when I last saw you, and you didn't even know how to box. I hope that black eye taught you a lesson, and the wasteland has hardened you. Regardless, I've prepared tests so you can prove you're worthy of meeting me. If you fail, you'll die, and good riddance. I'd rather have a dead son than a weak one.

SAM YAO: Five, a dart just flew past your face! Another by your knees! Uh, quick, do some jumping jacks to avoid them. Uh, feet together, arms by your sides. Now jump, spreading your arms and legs in the air so you land in a star shape. That dart almost clipped your ear! Jump back to the starting position. Keep doing those and the darts will miss you.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Still alive, Brandon? These darts are tipped with poison, you know. Ever see The Running Man? Contestants fighting to the death on television, a marvelous idea! The weak are punished and their deaths set an example. Televised combat is just what this country needs. Gladiatorial battles for children, now that's an idea! Get rid of the weak early and stop them growing into giant wastes of resources.

SAM YAO: [sighs] It's over. What was wrong with Thurman? He's treating this like some kind of joke! I mean, it's one thing to prepare for the future, but this... ! [sighs] I hope wherever he is, Brandon never gives his dad a moment's thought. Head to the next chamber, Five. If any more darts fly at you, just keep jumping.

~

SAM YAO: There's an arcade cabinet in this chamber. Must be another test from Thurman for his son.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: With discipline, strength of mind, and secret knowledge, one can live forever. If you prove worthy, Brandon, I'll tell you about it.

SAM YAO: Oh, I hate to send you further into that... that bastard's lair, but we have to know what he knows, Five. He's too dangerous, and he's fixated on you. We've got to find out how to stop him.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ever heard of The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle, Crowley's lost manuscript? Explains how to harness occult forces to make reality bend to your will. I bought it for millions, memorized it, then burned it. Couldn't have anyone else reading it. Sharing is for commies. Besides, they say the book is cursed. Everyone who owned it before me died horribly. Starving, thirsty, trapped and alone. You know why? Because they were unworthy!

You must prove you have the right values. Approach the arcade cabinets. Behold, a computer rendering of Karl Marx. Before you are two buttons, Hero and Parasite. Press the one you think describes Marx. Get it wrong, and the room fills with poison gas.

SAM YAO: [laughs] I'm pretty sure Thurman thinks Marx is a parasite, Five, but the buttons have corroded. The levers on the floor are all that's left. You can't stop looking at the screen, I need your head cam, so um... Okay, yep. Lunge and hit the lever with your knee instead. Stand with your feet together. Now step forward with your right leg and lower your back knee so that it almost touches the ground. And raise back up.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: That's right, Marx was a parasite, and you've exterminated him! Here's Ayn Rand.

SAM YAO: Ugh! Um, yeah, I think Rand wrote a book called The Virtue of Selfishness. Hit the hero button. Lunge with your left foot this time.

ARTEMUS THURMAN Keep going, Brandon! Here's Robin Hood.

SAM YAO: Looks like Thurman's alternating heroes and parasites, so keep lunging with alternate feet. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ah, Henry Ford. Tore down 5,000 square miles of rainforest to build a private rubber production colony. Excellent man. Yes, Brandon, exterminate those parasites! Halfway there. Oh, Dickens. Reagan. If you become half the man he is, you'll almost be worth the time I've spent on you. You've done it, Brandon! If you'd made a single mistake, I'd have gassed you like a rodent.

SAM YAO: A door just opened, Five! If anyone else pops up on that screen, keep lunging. Otherwise, press on.

~

SAM YAO: Oh, there's an altar in this chamber, Five. I wonder what that's for.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle explains how to harness animal spirits through ritual sacrifice.

SAM YAO: Of course. Yeah.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Your mother disapproved, Brandon. Called it torture. Well, now's your chance to prove you don't hold with the stupid ideas about animal rights. Release the hounds!

SAM YAO: Oh, well surely there aren’t live dogs here. Oh crap, Five, robotic dog heading right for you, glowing red eyes and razor blade teeth! Quick, punch it! Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, left foot back, fists up. Now punch with your right fist. Nice shot, Five! Keep hitting it with your right fist.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: "Save the whales!" Penelope used to say. Hogwash. What have the whales ever done for us? Ever wondered what happened to your gerbil? Rat poison. Taught you a lesson about wasting resources on useless creatures.

SAM YAO: You've taken down that robo-dog, Five, but there's another one! Right, switch stance so your right leg is behind and punch with your left fist. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Prove you have the stomach to continue Crowley's work. Show no mercy, Brandon!

SAM YAO: Five, I hope your knuckles are okay after that. Keep going, we've got to know what this grimoire actually did. And if you see any more robo-dogs, you know what to do.

~

SAM YAO: Right, I just searched for Brandon Thurman on ROFFLEnet, but nothing came up, not even gossip like McBride mentioned. It's like he never existed. Everything about this family is so... just twisted and wrong.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Getting my hands on that grimoire was no picnic, Brandon. Had to hold my nose and venture east of the Iron Curtain, spend a week in a basement in Bucharest getting a man who refused to eat or drink to tell me what he knew. There wasn't much I could threaten him with, but I found his weak spot in the end. [laughs] After he told me what he knew, I followed Crowley's trail to India. There are carvings under a temple in Hyderabad, tied all my research together.

Immortality is there for the taking, Brandon, you just have to work for it. You can exist in two places at once. Think about it, working twice as hard, making twice the money! I bulldozed the temple, of course. Full of stupid warnings. The grimoire states that to conquer death, you must overcome an attempt on your life, value strength over weakness, and sacrifice those less valuable than yourself. And at last, you have to be willing to kill.

You're nearly there, Brandon. I'm almost proud of you. I've been testing you all your life. Never sent your mother a penny. Wanted to see if you'd grow up self-reliant. And when I saw that article about you in the FT, “Teenager establishes paper route pyramid scheme,” I knew I'd been successful. There's only one thing left, Brandon.

The staircase ahead bears blood sigils. It is a shrine to the god Moloch. He demands the sacrifice of love, so as you ascend, you must renounce all that you love, as I have renounced you. Only then will you be granted power over death. Speak the words carved on the stairs as you ascend.

SAM YAO: “I vow to sacrifice to Moloch that which I love. To starve, kill and...” What the...? Don't say any of that stuff, Five. Don't even look at it. Just climb the stairs.

~

SAM YAO: Okay, you're outside the last chamber, Five. Almost there. And yeah, your way back is clear. You can get away if anything's... bad. There's a glass coffin inside.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Well, Brandon, you've found me. I'll be taken here after my death. Of course, since I followed the grimoire's instructions, I won't really be dead, just sleeping.

SAM YAO: The coffin’s bristling with tubes leading to the machines beside it. Dr. McBride worked in longevity research. Maybe this equipment has been keeping Thurman alive all this time. Yeah, maybe he's um... uh, you know, zombie immune because he died, or-or something. Take a closer look.

There's a desiccated body in the coffin. It's uh... Yeah, I'm not imagining it, am I, Five? It's Thurman, but dead. Really, really dead. Oh Five, look at the machine. Every switch has been flipped to off. And is that a note? “See you in hell, dad. B.” Did Brandon come here to turn his dad off? Not that I... [sighs] not that I blame him, really, but... ugh. For his sake, I wish he hadn't cared this much.

Nothing makes sense, Five! If Thurman's really dead, then who's been chasing you? What was that noise? The whole bunker’s shaking!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Oh Brandon, I've installed monitoring systems. If my state deteriorates too far for me to be revived, I have a contingency plan. See you soon, boy.

~

[nikxation]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @endae <3 I throw this under a Read More since it's a little long.

How many works do you have on AO3?

23 (wow that's so much more than I had thought)

What’s your total word count on AO3

215,893 jesus fucking c-

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Marvel, Miraculous Ladybug, Gravity Falls, Danny Phantom, Star Wars So 5. 5 fandoms

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Top to Bottom: Premiere Night With a Large Popcorn and a Side of Eye-Rolling (Miraculous Ladybug), Tactility (Star Wars/Mandalorian), Tell Him (Gravity Falls), A Matter of Time (Gravity Falls), Catharsis (Gravity Falls).

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to. I think I've only ever not responded to a couple comments, and that's because they either 1) came from a non-registered user, so I knew they wouldn't see my response, or 2) it was just a "Kudos" comment or something along those lines that I appreciated but maybe didn't have the time or drive to respond to. But all comments are appreciated, and I do respond to the majority of them. I like engaging with my readers and letting them know I appreciate them sharing their thoughts about my work.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I mean I straight-up kill Stan in Their End, so that'd probably be up there for that reason. But I still think Tell Him had a certain level of foreboding to it that made it pretty angsty (and as popular as it apparently was).

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever written?

I don't write crossovers, haven't really found a plot for one that's excited me yet.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I... don't think so... Not that I can think of right off the bat.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have not, but I am... not as opposed to it as I used to be. I still don't think I ever will, but I blame my current affinity for pretty helmeted Star Wars men for the fact that I'm not vehemently opposed anymore. But again, not sure I ever would, but will clarify that if I ever wrote it, it would not be posted through this blog/account because this blog is non-explicit, I would make a side account for it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! DaraDjinn (don't know why Tumblr isn't letting me tag her) translated a couple of my GF fics to French a while back! Catharsis, Scars, and I Dreamt of Fire! Was super psyched when she asked me if she could do it!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm not very big on ships at the moment (aside from reader insert stuff, obviously, haha), but way back in the day, I really liked FrostIron (Loki x Tony Stark). It was one hell of a dynamic and really popular. Stucky (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes) was a close second.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I'm not gonna say A Matter of Time, I'm not gonna say it and put those words out into the ether because I want to finish it I'm just trapped in Star Wars hell right now, but I'm also well aware of what happens when I latch onto a new hyperfixation, I can't maintain two of them, and I hate that because I really wanna finish AMoT and I know there are a lot of you out there that want me to finish it tooooooooo.

What are your writing strengths?

The two things people compliment me on all the time are the flow of my writing and my characterization. I personally love my writing flow, so I'm super glad when other people seem to like it too. When it comes to writing in-character, it's always a big fear of mine, but then I get comments of people gushing over how in-character things are, so that's reassuring and validating af.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I have one hell of a time with anything action-y (which is why... I don't write it a lot, haha). Fast-paced motion is really hard for me to nail down, especially when I like to hammer down details, so the necessity to get through things fast while still maintaining a clear picture of what's happening??? Difficult af.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think it completely depends on the situation, both in the fic and in real life. With respect to the fic, if you're writing dialogue in another language, it better be 100% in-character and not awkward. Like, too often you see people dropping in other languages either to use as petnames or to have a "oh oops sorry I accidentally switched languages" which gets... very near that unrealistic trope and can sometimes even come across as fetishizing??? So, like, it better be in-character and within reason. Bear in mind that if you're writing in another language, you better have a translation readily accessible, probably in notes (which, is still annoying because either you have to scroll down to see what they said, or you have to just keep reading not knowing... which, if you're not supposed to know, then alright I guess, but if it's a full conversation that you're supposed to be in-the-know on, it's annoying). With respect to your real-life situation, if it's a language you are personally not fluent in, you better be finding someone who is to run things by them. You can really ostracize your readers and take them out of your story if they speak the language and you say something taboo or blatantly incorrect because you just used Google translate. So, have someone who knows the language double-check your stuff, make sure it all reads correctly. TL;DR: Be tasteful and smart if you really feel the need to do it. Remember you're putting more work on the readers, so it better be worth it. And make sure you have someone check your work if you're not fluent in the language.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Pokemon, back in like 3rd or 4th grade.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm still proud of Catharsis, it was my first real delve into very introspective writing and flow, and it's a way of writing that I really enjoy slipping into every once in a while now. Also a lot of really nice descriptions and metaphors and motifs that I'm still very happy with to this day. More recently, I'm proud of Tactility, more for what it did for me rather than the fic itself. Well, I mean, I'm proud of the fic, it was my first delve into the Mando fandom and it got a lot of positive reception, it was exactly what I wanted it to be and came out exactly how I wanted it, especially in the short timeframe that I wrote it. But I'm just... very happy that I did it because writing reader inserts always felt very taboo for me. I've actually written a few before, all of them PG and very tame for different fandoms, but I've always just been... too nervous to post them? And this was the first one I actually felt comfortable posting and wanted to put out there, and it sort-of let me feel more comfortable with it and encouraged me to keep doing it, which I'm happy about because writing reader insert fics is so fun and I'm glad I feel comfortable enough to enjoy it openly now.

Uhhh I'll tag @bunniesofsteel @anistarrose @3hobbitsinatrenchcoat and anyone else who wants to do it, you can say I tagged you :)

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Like blood on a patch of fresh snow.

I'm not sure of where this fic went, but... oh well. I don't want to look at it for much longer, so here y'all go, 1.9K words of whatever this is. I really wanted to write more NaomiLG because I love them, but I realize I'm really not their best writer, so I need to hone my skills. Take this weird-ass oneshot with a very specific and picturesque prompt as an attempt to nail them. It was fun to imagine all of the red-on-white imagery, at least. Title comes from a Rammstein song because it played while I was writing this and I figured, y'know, it means "red rose", so why not make it the title? It at least sounds epic to someone like me who knows shit about German. No correlation to the lyrics, though, far from it lmao.

-----------

Rosenrot

Summary: Naomi's past catches up to her in a street as someone else's blood spills for her.

Fandom: Trauma Team (spoilers for TC:SO and TT) Ship: Naomi/Little Guy

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo​

AO3 version available here.

--------------

Like a widow who had lost her spouse, Naomi started wearing black after losing her ability to save lives. Back then, she didn’t really know why, probably to remind her of the sins she still had to expiate. It felt weird to her to wear white again, since it kept reminding her of the life she had to leave behind, that of a lifesaver whom people trusted with literally all they had left.

Even now, even as her life has gone back on track (she has a stable job, a daughter and friends who hold her in great esteem – things she thought she’d never have until a year ago), she continues wearing black because it feels more comfortable to be able to fade back into the shadows would she ever need to slip back into the night. She can’t ever live in the broad daylight, not anymore she knows this; but, as long as Alyssa doesn’t mind, then she doesn’t have a reason to complain. The cold and silence have their perks.

 Wearing black, at first, was to hide stains when she was working with Delphi. God knows there was little hygiene there, so blood could easily show on clothing when they weren’t careful. Wearing black robes (or whatever outfit they had given her that looked very little like a robe) allowed them to conceal the dark reds and rusts more easily without having to think about it too much. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

On the other hand, blood is too visible on white. Of course, it is the point of wearing it for surgical procedures, since it’s easier to disinfect – it’s still too visible for people like Delphi or, in a way, her. Even to this day, seeing reddish stains on white fabric makes her uneasy, reminding her of things she’d much rather never think about again. She’s like the black-clad widow staring at the radiant bride with a wine stain on her dress: she knows what she lost and has the feeling of seeing a bad omen.

 There is this one thing about Delphi she has stopped minding, and it’s Little Guy, or whatever his real identity was supposed to be. If he reminded her of their dark past not too long ago, he now represents what they could become: atoners, working for “the right side” for once, working in the shadows to help the living move on like they’ve had to. Unlike her, he didn’t let himself dwell on the past, preferring to get moving.

The moment she understood it the most when he started to wear white more than black, renouncing to the colour she was always used to see him dress. It felt weird, at first, but he knew how to pull it off, and she got used to the new habits. Never dwell on the past, let herself get swiped away by the changing winds. Moreover, Alyssa really liked it whenever he’d drop by the house after driving her home after work or getting Alyssa from school when she couldn’t.

 But now, the past has caught back to them. Ex-Delphi members have found them again, motivated by the recent rise (and fall, but they forgot about that second time) of Adam’s nephew trying to bring the virus back right as PGS cases flare up across the USA. They’re not running away, this time: she did that enough when going to seek amnesty in Europe, so now, she better prepare herself to strike. Little Guy already cocks his FBI-licenced gun out, intending to strike judging by the little tremors in his fingers.

It goes in a flash: a couple bangs, blood spilling on the ground, dirt and smoke and iron fill the air of an urban cul-de-sac. The commotion is such that it’s difficult to follow anything until the stench of violence lifts up and so does the smog it created. For a moment, she believes they may have both gotten killed, and that she’s already passing into the afterlife, in denial of everything, not ready to face death nor discover if there is, indeed, something on the “other side” that isn’t roaming around this world and calling the “voodoo hotline”.

 One thing quickly becomes clear: she is still alive. In fact, everyone is somehow still alive, because she sees their three assailants with their weapons on the floor and wounds in their legs: they were only harmed to disarm them. She pats her own clothes and body to check if she hasn’t been injured, remembering reflexes she had thought long gone coming back to her in a moment’s notice. To her fortune, she seems okay, as she only feels dirt, dry clothing and skin under her fingers’ touch.

 Seeing the men lie on the ground in pain, she already grabs her phone and calls for help, going into not too many details for everyone’s safety and privacy.

“Little Guy,” she starts calling to her partner so they can get away from this place before being brought into this, her finger about to swipe the call off, “let’s go.”

His response is delayed.

“Sure… Sure thing.”

His voice sounds strangled and hesitant, drier than her clothes, and it prompts her to turn around. As soon as she does, however, her own breath gets caught in her throat as her entire body tenses up. Her mind, which was until now fixated on running as far as possible from the scene before they were going to be questioned about the bullets in their pursuers’ limbs, immediately switches to the same sort of panic she felt in Caduceus Europe all those years ago when she witnessed a fellow surgeon collapse in pain.

Little Guy!

 He’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall that cornered them until now, a hand loosely holding onto his gun, the other barely holding onto a striking red stain on his clear, monochrome attire. It’s expanding moment after moment, replacing the immaculate white of his shirt and suit jacket with a much darker colour. If it was only the bloodstained clothes, it’d have been fine, no matter how much this man frets over such things – but it’s not what is scaring her so much about this.

“Little Guy, what happened?!”

As he struggles to get an answer out, she takes his pulse: there, obviously, since he’s breathing, but weakening. His breathing is quick but shuddering, as if fragile like glass.

“One… one of them was armed,” he replies, swallowing every few words. “One bullet hit… my flank, I think?”

Not caring for the nail polish Alyssa put on her fingers last night, Naomi digs under the bloodstained jacket and where the incriminated wound must be. There, she confirms Navel’s suspicions: it’s indeed in his flank.

“If my assumption is correct, it shouldn’t have hurt an organ,” she says, a little bit of relief pulsing through her. “We need to get you into a hospital asap, though, you’re bleeding profusely.”

 She grabs back her phone, which she previously slipped into her pocket, and adds the information on a fourth wounded. She gives more information on their location and the circumstances, merely forgetting to mention this is all because of Delphi’s doings and their smothered shady pasts, and stays on the line, putting the phone in speaker mode so she doesn’t miss crucial information.

“You should go, Dr Kimishima,” Navel whispers, eyes getting glassy and unfocused, the speed at which this happens prompting her to check the wound again. The blood has spread even further, making the fabric stick to the wound. “Don’t… let them catch up to you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you for dead. Plus, I’d rather have to search for amnesty again than get pursued for not helping someone in critical need.”

It’s the pragmatic way to say she’d never handle having his blood on her hands and his death on her conscience. He, however, doesn’t reply, letting uncomfortable silence install itself as they wait for assistance to arrive.

 When they do, the sirens’ shrills muffle Navel’s breathing, lights almost covering the blood stains on his suit and her fingers, slipping under her nails, drying out already.

It could, however, never erase the image from her mind.

  -----------------------

Naomi waits in this bedroom, all alone and in silence, for a little while. She doesn’t know how long exactly (probably around half an hour, although it feels like more than that), all she knows is that the chair she’s sitting on isn’t very comfortable and that she needs to remember when to pick Alyssa from school; two things that, for the moment being, don’t matter much.

The weather is beautiful, today. Even earlier, when they were outside, there was a gentle breeze blowing through their hair. She merely forgot about it due to thinking about literally anything else under the sun, mostly her colleague whom she found out wasn’t just randomly hit during the kerfuffle. To be fair, she should’ve guessed that was what had happened when she suddenly found herself on the ground rather than standing, but…

 She suddenly hears Little Guy stirring and, finally, opening an eye. His injuries were fortunately not as grievous as she was afraid they’d be, even if he’s clearly landed himself for at least a week in the hospital. What an idiot.

“Doc… Doctor Kimishima…?”

“Go back to sleep, Little Guy, you still sound like you’ve pulled a week-long all-nighter.”

As if obeying her (but most likely because losing this much blood tends to leave you weak, and his corpulence isn’t exactly one that’d take kindly to blood loss), his eyelids flutter; but he doesn’t go back to sleep. At least, not yet.

 “Are you okay…?” He asks, voice recovering some clarity, even if it’s unlike his usual swagger.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking you that, you know; but I’m okay. Better off than you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles once before groaning in pain.

“Urgh, I forgot how sore post-surgery was…”

“You’ll get used to it. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sure you do, Dr Kimishima.”

 She drops the playful banter for something else altogether.

“Oh, and, Little Guy?”

“Yes…?”

“Never do that again. I don’t want to see you covered in your own blood again.”

His face, which is slowly regaining more colour, distorts a little.

“Even if…”

“Even if it means saving my life.”

He looks aside, in silence. She guesses he’s unable to honestly give her the answer she wants to hear, so he instead prefers not to say anything. Well, that’s something she expected would happen: people have told her he was wrapped around her little finger. Too bad that this man got infatuated with someone like her whom death and misfortune follow her every step. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, considering the number of close calls he found himself in when he was by her side. You sometimes have to wonder what other people even think…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he eventually replies.

 Naomi can’t stay upset about it forever, especially when she sees how dishevelled and vulnerable he looks with his hair askew, dark rings under his eyes and hospital gown, so far from the sharply-dressed bachelor she’s come to appreciate.

“Good. Just be careful and we’ll be clear.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

As long as he doesn’t mind being so close to death, she’ll make sure he doesn’t meet it.

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Strawberry Pancakes: The Preview

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1048

    "It's so nice of you guys to come." Nat cooed as she pressed a kiss to Lily's cheek, beckoning her and the man that accompanied her further into the room, "But you're so early!"

"I wanted to make sure we weren't late." Lily hummed.

"We're an hour early, doll." He whispered into her ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of it as he pulled away.

"Well someone wanted to do something else," Lily laughed, her lips tight as she nudged him in the ribs, "But I figured we could help out too if we came a bit earlier."

"There's an empty room in the back if he can't contain himself." Steve laughed as he approached, nodding his head at the couple, "Nice to see my best man show up early though."

"Don't get all emotional on me, punk." Bucky chuckled as he removed his arm from Lily's waist, walking forward and wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders.

"C'mon Lily, let's let these two have their moment to gaze into each other's eyes," Nat chuckled, lacing her arm with the blondes and tugging her away, "Okay what was the real reason you came so early."

"It's true, I was worried that we'd be late." Lily chuckled, taking a seat at a table with the red head.

It was true. The dinner didn't start until 7:30, and it was only 6:30. But Lily was a punctual person, the last thing she wanted to do was be late for two of her close friends rehearsal dinner. Plus, they lived an hour away from Brooklyn, all the way on the coast of Long Island. Lily's hometown. The two were lucky to find the home of their dreams mere weeks after their own engagement, and packed up from Lily's suburban colonial in Manhattan to a beautiful beach house on the lake.

The Avengers paid well.

Lily had switched positions to superhuman consultant at an Avengers funded hospital in Long Island. She mainly handled child mutants who were developing abilities, and helping them through the changes in their body. Bucky on the other hand ran a therapy / group session for veterans, and those who served alongside the Avengers in various battles. It was the perfect outcome for the two, allowing them to work alongside each other in the same building, in opposite wings though. Of course the two didn't really interact during the day, unless a patient was attending a session across the way.

But it also meant that Lily was in direct contact with Tony Stark so often that she wanted to throttle him.

"Look who decided to crash the party!" Tony's voice rang out as he entered the room, a tight smile stretching across Lily's lips.

"Always a pleasure, Stark," Lily sighed, glancing up from her drink and tilting her head as the man walked over, "What brings you here so early?"

"Well I'm the stand-in father of the bride, can't miss my daughter's rehearsal dinner now can I?" Stark chuckled, taking a seat next to Nat, "You look lovely tonight Lily."

Glancing down, Lily assessed her outfit for the night. A flowy dress that reached down to just at her mid-shin. It had slight ruffles at the top along the neckline and near the bottom of the dress, and was a lighter shade of black with small red rose decals covering it. It was a nice dress, she had to admit. Rose had brought it over the week before when she visited with Leo.

"You clean up well too, Stark," Lily quipped back, smiling softly when Bucky brought her over a vodka-cranberry, "And I had to look nice, couldn't let robo-cop over here outshine me."

Light hearted conversation ensued, allowing Lily to relax a bit more. Bucky kept his hand resting gently on her knee the entire time, rubbing small patterns whenever her words became jumbled or cheeks heated up. Small tells that let him know that her mind was racing at a million miles a minute. It was something the two had developed over the last few years of their relationship. It worked vice versa as well, though typically Lily just escorted Bucky away from the conversation.

The two worked together with one another in a tandem. Both leveling out what the other was lacking. He reminded her just how loved and beautiful she was, and that he wouldn't change anything about her. While she reminded him that he was not a monster, and what happened was not his own doing. Each was the other's safety net in the crazy lives they lived. But it worked well for them, for four years now.

"Now when are you two going to figure it out and start planning your own wedding," Steve asked as everyone mingled after dinner was finished, "It's been two years since Buck popped the question."

"Oh come on now Steve," Sam chuckled, walking over towards the group, "Let's not raz these two. You'll only make them push it back further."

"In Bucky and Lily's defence, they did have a few unexpected events pop up along the way." Nat chuckled, leaning her head on Steve's shoulder.

Lily shook her head, sipping her water. In all honesty, she was wondering herself when the two were going to officially tie the knot. Bucky had proposed on their two year anniversary, and here they were four years strong with no official marriage certificate in their name. Lily had naturally began to start going by Dr. Barnes, and no one really questioned it. Hunter even said that multiple kids at school asked if Bucky was his real father. It would only make sense for the two to make it legally official soon.

She worried sometimes, that he was regretting his decision about proposing to her. That he changed his mind and wanted to leave it so the breakup wasn't a messy legal battle. Despite the fact it would be because of outside factors like the house and other influences.

"It's not our main priority right now." Bucky stated simply, sipping his old fashioned and squeezing Lily's waist gently.

"Yeah so bugger off Steve." Lily teased tensley, pursing her lips. This earned a barked laugh from the former Avenger, prompting his response.

"You two already have a kid. What's with the stall?"

[imagining-supernatural]

The First Week

Part 8 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You’re wearing down physically and mentally from the cancer treatment and Sebastian is the only person around to take the brunt of your exhaustion

Word Count: 2019

The city passed by from the back of the hired car, but you couldn’t revel at the awesome sight that was New York City.

And you hated that.

You were in New York Fucking City.

The Big Fucking Apple

You hadn’t even been here a week yet. You should be enjoying this. You should be marveling at the landscape. The skyline. The history and art and people. You should be smiling damn it!

But all you could think about was the guest bed waiting for you on the other side of the ride.

Not even your own bed. A fucking guest bed.

“I thought we could order some food in when we get home,” Sebastian said. “Something with fresh vegetables. Maybe some chicken.”

“Sounds good,” you muttered, still staring blankly out the window.

“I was also thinking I could invite some strippers over. Since it’s Friday night, you know. Try to cheer you up a bit. Get you—”

“I’m listening, Seb. Chicken sounds good. Strippers sound exhausting and unnecessary. My pillow sounds even better.”

He grunted and went back to whatever the fuck he was doing on his side of the car.

“You can go do your own shit, you know. Go out with friends. Whatever. I can handle myself.” Now you looked over at him, hoping to convince him. “Ever since Monday, it seems like every single minute of your day has revolved around me.”

“And when I leave to film, I can—”

“When you leave to film, you’ll be Bucky fucking Barnes. Go. Be yourself. Tonight. I’m probably going to fall asleep in, like, ten minutes anyway.” As if to prove your point, you yawned. “This treatment is no joke.”

He made a noncommittal noise before turning his attention back to his phone. With a humph, you turned back to your window.

You’d warned him. While you hadn’t expected your bitchiness to show up in the third day of treatment, you weren’t entirely surprised.

And you’d warned him.

If he wanted to cut you off, you wouldn’t blame him. You’d sign the annulment papers. Or divorce papers. Whatever was placed in front of you, you’d sign it.

Or, if he dropped you off at his apartment and flew down to Georgia early to get a feel for the studio or whatever actors did, you wouldn’t blame him either.

The hired car pulled into the underground garage and stopped right by the elevators. Sebastian got right out, but you released a deep sigh before trying to build your energy. Dr. Sharpe and Dr. Chowdhury hadn’t been kidding when they said this treatment was intense. It was so intense that you were starting to think they overestimated how well you could handle this. Maybe they missed something on your labs and films. Your cancer was too far progressed. This was all an exercise in futility.

Your door opened to Sebastian holding his hand out to you.

Blowing out a breath, you took his hand, swung your legs out of the car, and started to stand up, only to have your knees give out and send you falling back into the car.

Eyes screwed closed, it took a moment to threaten the tears back. By the time you felt in control again, Sebastian was swooping you up into his arms.

“I can wa—”

“You cannot walk and so help me God, if you try to tell me that you can, I will call your friend and have her yell at you.”

He was right. It was annoying how often he was right in the five days that you’d known him. You didn’t have the energy to argue, so you just tucked your head into his shoulder and gave in.

“How do you feel about Chinese? Some steamed vegetables, orange chicken, and brown rice?”

“Orange chicken might be too much spice right now. I learned from chemo that, uh, spices do not go well with the fuckin’ atomic toxins they inject into my body. I’m on a bland food diet for time being.”

“Alright,” he nodded, shifting his hold on you to push the elevator button. “I’ll channel my inner, middle-aged, white-mom Karen who thinks that salt is a spice.”

That sparked a weak laugh from you. “Sounds perfect. Not too much salt, though.”

There were a few weeks until Sebastian had to leave to start filming his show. You had assumed he would check in on you, make sure you were doing okay, maybe spend some of his free time with you, but that he would go about his life as normal.

You were wrong.

He switched his schedule around to match yours. He worked out while you were getting your infusions, spoke with his agent during your shorter hospital visits for a shot or two, ran errands while you were napping… He was so fucking thoughtful.

And annoying.

Not only had Sebastian channeled his inner-Karen for your bland-food diet, but he also channeled his inner grandmother in the way he was constantly shoving food in your face, insisting that you have to eat to keep up your strength. He even went so far as to schedule a meeting with the hospital dietician and Dr. Chowdhury to make sure his diet plans gave you everything you needed, and nothing you didn’t. You’d never eaten this well in your life.

Despite your fully balanced diet, you were still exhausted most of the time. You’d thought that you were prepared for the intensity of this treatment, but there was no way to fully prepare for this. You were two weeks in and it still felt like it was getting worse. By this point in your chemo, you felt like you were starting on the upswing.

But you were still falling asleep before the movies that you and Sebastian watched together even began. You could barely finish your food before needing to lay back and rest. You would try to read a book, but you were barely ten pages in because every time you sat down to read, you ended up passing out. Any spare energy you had was spent trying not to be a bitch to the people around you.

Which is how you found yourself waking up from where you’d fallen asleep with your head in Seb’s lap. The TV was black, movie having ended.

“What are you—Is that my phone?” When you twisted around to look up at Seb, you were confused by your phone case in his hand. You’d given him your passcode, as a safety precaution, so you weren’t confused by how he got onto your phone, just why he was.

“Jasmin called twice, so I texted her to let her know why you weren’t answering.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“And then we kept talking. She’s really curious about who I am.”

“And really bad at keeping secrets.”

“I know. Just think about what she’s told me about you in the last half hour I’ve been texting with her.”

“Everything she told you about our senior year in high school is fake. She got a bad concussion the summer before and her memory of that entire year is shit. So, don’t believe any stories she tells you.”

His fingers scratched along your hairline. “Mmm, I’ll have to remember to ask her about those stories. This time she mostly divulged secrets for keeping you happy during this treatment.”

“Secrets like make sure Y/N always has access to chocolate and she’s going to want to stop treatment and run away to Paris. Help her plan, then when she thinks this is actually going to work, tell her there is no way in hell you’re letting her do this and crush her dreams. I’m sure she’ll forgive you eventually, but she hasn’t forgiven me for that yet so I can’t really tell you when.”

“Paris?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Go to the Seine River and be surprised by how bad it smells. For some reason, places you think will smell normal always smell bad. You ever been to Yellowstone?”

That earned you a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. She did touch on the chocolate thing, though.”

“What else?”

“When you start to feel better, apparently I’m supposed to convince you to dye your hair, or get a hair cut or something. I didn’t understand that one.”

“It’s just what I do. When I need a pick-me-up, I do something to my hair. Switch things up.”

“Noted. She also said, and I think this is her way of playing matchmaker from all the way across the country, but she said that you won’t ask or initiate physical touch, but you always seemed better when you cuddled with her. So apparently I’m supposed to cuddle with you whenever humanly possible.”

Of course, you thought. That was so Jasmin. After a quick, light laugh, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position, leaning on the other side of the couch. “God, Jasmin. She’s something else.”

“So she was wrong about that?”

“I—” You wanted to say yes. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to move your friendship to any kind of physical level, beyond him carrying you up a set of stairs, or falling asleep with your head in his lap. But you couldn’t lie.

So you just had to find a way to change the subject.

“She wasn’t wrong about me not initiating contact. I had a pretty tough life growing up, so touch is hard for me. Especially with people I’m around a lot.”

He nodded thoughtfully, shifting so he was facing you more with his knee on the cushion and arm along the back of the couch. “So, in Vegas…”

“One night stands are great because you don’t have to worry about forming any sort of connection. No feelings. Just… It’s just fun and done. It doesn’t hurt.” The subject change seemed to have worked, but now you were in depressing territory. Time for another shift. “So you went and fucked that all up by insisting we stay married.”

He scoffed and playfully said, “Well, sorry for saving your life.”

“Yeah, you’re just the worst,” you responded with an exaggerated eye roll. Eyes locked on his, you couldn’t help but offer him a soft smile. “Thank you, though. I don’t think I’ve said it outright how much this means to me.”

“Y/N, you don’t—”

“Shut up and let me be serious for once. I’m complimenting you. Just let me.”

A grin toyed with his lips as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Good. I know I’ve been a bit of a bitch lately, but I’ve tried extra hard not to be because… you’ve done so much for me. I have never met anyone who would help out a complete stranger like you’re helping me and I have a really hard time telling people thanks, or how much I appreciate them, but I need you to hear it. I…” You had to pause and take a deep breath because you were starting to get choked up. “Just, thank you, Seb.”

The air was charged as your eyes stayed locked. Sharing emotions was never your strong suit, and now you had no idea what to do, what to say…

“Come over here,” he softly said, opening his arms.

“Seb, you don’t have to—”

“Get over here, Y/N.” When it was clear he wasn’t going to relent, you gave in and let him fit you in his arms. Once the footrest was popped out and a blanket was pulled over the two of you, he grabbed the remote and opened Hulu. “You’re going to let me hold you and we’re going to watch Brooklyn 99, because Jasmin also said that’s your favorite show.”

Your silence was your agreement, but it wasn’t until Jake Peralta was assigned to the records room in the pilot episode that you finally accepted the broken boundary of physical touch and relaxed into Sebastian’s arms. You wrapped your arms around his waist and let your head lay on his shoulder. “Thank you, Seb.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N/N.”

Things seem to be going well now! They’re getting along, treatment is getting easier to manage... everything is going to stay this nice, right? Right??

Part 9: The First Check-In

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

A New Medium

AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS FIC IS SUPER META WAS INTENDED TO BE READ ON AO3. IF YOU CAN, I SUGGEST YOU READ IT THERE. HERE'S THE LINK.

Patton, Logan, and Virgil all appeared at Roman’s side, slightly disoriented.

“That should do it!’ Roman announced, looking around with pride. “Welcome to fanfiction!”

Virgil pulled his hood down over his eyes. “This is messing with my head. Can we just go back to the YouTube videos? I’d just gotten used to them.”

“Ooh! Look at the words! Whatever I say shows up!” Patton said with excitement, reading along as the prose lined the page.

Logan cocked an eyebrow. “I wonder what the parameters are. Deoxyribonucleic acid. Antidisestablishmentarianism. Rhodostemonodaphne capixabensis,” he rattled off, surprised to find the author could keep up with him.

Roman smirked at the words on the screen. “Time works differently for her. Whenever she stops typing, our world freezes,” he explained. Indeed, the author had had to look up that last word online before typing it out. Apparently, Logan knew the entire scientific name for an obscure Brazilian tree for some reason.

“So, what, she’s got super powers or something?” Virgil asked, peeking out from under his hood and at last inspecting his surroundings. “What do you mean, at last?” he grumbled, reading the words. “I was getting adjusted. Gimme a break.”

“Her?” Logan wondered. “I’m unaccustomed to being under the creative whims of someone aside from you or Thomas,” he said to Roman. “Have you met this person?”

Roman chuckled. “No. We can’t directly interact with her in this medium. She has a bio, though.”

Patton looked around for this so-called bio, unaware that the Profile tab on the left-hand side would lead him right to it.

“Oh! Thanks, invisible-writer-lady!” he said, skipping over to the bio with the rest of the gang following curiously. Roman watched them with amusement. As a facet of creativity itself, he was always slightly more aware of the mediums he was portrayed in than the other sides. This piece had been specially crafted to give them all perfect awareness of the medium.

“Exactly,” Roman said quietly, so only the author could discern his words. “Speaking of, I don’t appreciate all the angst you’ve been writing me—” he started, but unfortunately the scene had to move on, and Roman was cut off. Rolling his eyes, he joined the group at the profile page.

“Call me Nico, she/her,” Logan read aloud.

“What a pretty name! Hi, Nico!” Patton squealed, waving enthusiastically despite not being able to see the author. Regardless, she found this incredibly endearing.

“A pseudonym, perhaps?” Logan correctly assumed. “Interesting,” he muttered, “she not only describes what’s happening in real time, but also adds her own narrative voice to answer our questions. How peculiar.”

As the author and narrator, Nico was able to interact with the characters through prose. If she were to directly insert herself into the fic, she would become a character, controlled by herself. It hurt her brain to think about. Simply using her name and pronouns already tiptoed across that line—though having narrators as characters in literature wasn’t rare by any means.

“Nice username,” Virgil said, gesturing to the header on the left. “Definitely my speed.”

Patton squinted up at it, mouth moving silently as he deciphered the string of words. “Hey, that—is that true, Nico?”

“A chronic lack of self preservation is troubling, indeed,” Logan added.

Roman quickly explained to them that the username was more of a cynical joke than anything to be seriously worried about. Though, the author’s therapist might have something to say about it. Having discovered everything of note in the profile, the four of them made their way back to the fanfiction itself.

Virgil blinked. “What was that?”

“That was summary,” Roman explained. “It’s where she writes about something that already happened without staying in scene, like we are now.”

“Incredible,” Logan breathed. “I remember your explanation happening, but did not directly experience it. If I may ask, Nico, how much control do you have over us in this format?”

As the author of the fic, Nico had total control. The only reason the three of them were aware of her presence was because she wrote them that way. Roman had a nasty little habit of doing things his own way, despite her outlines. Curse his hyperaware creative streak.

Roman raised his hands innocently. “Hey, I’ve got to flaunt what I’ve got.”

Of course, I could always switch the perspective to first person instead of the sort of distant, omniscient third person I had been using before, but that automatically makes me (the narrator) also a character, since the last perspective had more of an implied ‘I’.

I can change the tense as well. Watch.

“This is super trippy,” Virgil says.

Logan adjusts his glasses. “Fascinating,” he gushes. “The verbs all changed.”

To save Virgil’s mind, the author reverted back to the simple past and third person perspective. That was what she wrote most of her fics in anyway, so it came naturally to her. Another facet of fic writing that she thought they might find interesting was a scene break.

“A scene break?” Patton asked.

Roman smiled. “Just watch.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

Virgil stumbled a bit, Roman steadying him with a hand. “That is such a strange feeling. I hate it.”

Patton pointed above their heads. “Look! A line!”

“It’s used to divide scenes up or signal the passage of time,” Roman explained. He glanced down, noticing the end of the fic approaching. “Before we go, guys, Nico wanted me to introduce you to the reader.”

“The reader?” Logan wondered. “Another omnipotent creator?”

Roman shook his head. “Over there,” he said pointing. Nico withdrew her guiding hand, allowing Roman the figurative wheel. She and the reader were separated by the insurmountable barrier of time and space. It was up to Roman and the others to interact with them.

Patton gasped. “I can see them! Hi, there!!”

“Jeez,” Virgil hissed in surprise, whirling around. “Were they watching us this entire time?”

Logan dipped his head cordially. “Salutations, reader.”

“Aw, they’re smiling,” Patton cooed, beaming. “How adorable.”

“Don’t patronize them, Pat,” Virgil muttered.

“Hush, Dr. Gloom,” Roman chided good-naturedly, nudging Virgil in the ribs. “Let the padre have this moment. Oh,” he said, turning his attention to you, “a pleasure meeting you, my dear.”

Patton frowned. “Is their mouth moving? I can’t hear them.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “CAN YOU HEAR—oh look, capital letters!”

“No, we can’t hear them, Patton, but I could see them blushing from a mile away,” Roman teased.

“Flirt,” Virgil muttered.

“Are you properly hydrated?” Logan asked, peering up at your face. “Have you gone outside today? Do take care of yourself, reader.”

“Aw, Lo, that’s sweet,” Patton said with a grin.

“I am merely looking out for their wellbeing, Patton.”

“Virgil, why don’t you say something?” Roman pressed. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”

Virgil flushed, gripping the sides of his hoodie. He looked up at you warily. “Uh, hey,” he said with a tiny wave.

“Look, they loved it!” Patton said.

“The fic’s ending soon,” Roman said, watching its slow approach. “Everyone say bye.”

“Bye! See you later!” Patton called, entirely too loud, waving both hands in the air as if sending off a ship. “I love you! Be safe! Listen to what Logan said!!”

“Farewell,” Logan said, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“See ya, I guess,” Virgil said, trying to hide his steadily reddening face.

The three of them began retreating back where they came from, leaving Roman in the foreground with the reader. “You know, you can always come back here and see us again,” he said. “I’m sure they’d love it.”

Roman glanced down “Ah, look. There it is. The end. “

A marvelous white cape appeared on his shoulders, his prince outfit gleaming. Roman took an elegant, sweeping bow, chancing one last glance up at you.

He winked, a playful smile spreading across his face.

“That’s all folks.”

[xstarker]

Since the beginning and until the end (Part Three)

Peter is immortal, reincarnation exists, and in every lifetime Peter has met and loved Tony, only for him to die. He’s hoping this time might be different. 

[Part One] [Part Two]

Author’s Note: I put way more effort and detail into this chapter than was necessary, but hopefully it isn’t too much for you all. I really didn’t want to post it as two parts seeing as there is no mentions of Tony in this one and this is a Starker fic, but I felt like this chapter added to the story and Peter being immortal in a fun way.

That being said, this chapter is centered around the events of Captain America: The First Avenger.

Warnings: Mentions of canon character “death”, Nazis, War, etc. This chapter includes mentions of Stucky and Steggy.

Words: 4.4k

-

Peter has always tried to avoid going to the doctor whenever possible. He knows that if a doctor were to examine his reflexes or his strength too closely, or God forbid take his blood, that he could end up as someone’s lab experiment – or worse. That being said, he also hasn’t exactly been super cautious in the past either.

Over the years he’s made a habit of using his curse of immortality and the unique features that came with it, to help people. He ran in front of oncoming traffic to save little girls, retrieved cats from trees, caught someone who fell off a building, and even stopped a predator or two. He has never just been that person who stands by and lets bad things happen if he has the power to stop them. 

That’s why he ends up sitting in a medical exam room, waiting for a doctor to come clear him to join the military. He never really wanted to be an army man, but he also never expected one world war let alone two, and he certainly couldn’t stand idly by.

“You are marvelously fit, Mr Parks.” A deep german accent draws Peter’s attention to the curtain, a gentleman in a suit in the process of pulling it back and entering the room, Peter’s file in hand.

“Almost miraculously. You don’t even seem to have any real medical history. Your doctor gave me the results of your physical examination but little else. My name is Dr Abraham Erskine.” Peter tenses. Here was exactly what he always feared. Maybe if he grabs his clothes and runs now-

“So, you want to kill Nazis?” Peter’s attention is drawn back to the doctor.

“I don’t want to kill anyone. I just know that I have the ability to help all of those men who are out there fighting to end all of the genocide.” Dr Erskine nods.

“I can offer you a spot on a project I am working on. There are others, all of them hoping to be picked to be the first test subject.”

“Test subject for what? I don’t really want to be a test subject.”

“I will be honest with you, if you are with me. Yes?” Peter nods in agreement, curious by the strange doctor.

“The project is a serum to create the perfect soldier. However, from what I can see of you, it won’t be needed. Why is that?”

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s kind of complicated, but essentially I was bit by a cursed spider which gave me certain… genetic enhancements.”

Dr Erskine raises his eyebrows and smiles warmly, and seeing as the man doesn’t make Peter’s instincts go haywire, he thinks trusting him might not be the worst decision.

“That sounds absolutely insane, but given that you seem relatively sane and the physical evidence thus far, I suppose I have no choice but to believe you. Though I do expect that I will see more of these genetic enhancements overseas.”

“That is very likely, should you approve me sir.”

“Get dressed. You’ll need to pack a bag. Pack light though.” Peter smiles and jumps up from his seat, rushing to put his clothes back on and follow Dr Erskine out of the room, where the man then stamps a bold black 1A on his file.

“Congratulations soldier.” The doctor says, passing the file over to Peter. “You’re the second man I’ve approved tonight.”

“The second?”

“You will meet him when you ship out tomorrow morning.” Dr Erskine gives him another small smile and walks away.

-

As it turns out, the other man he approved is Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. They talk on the way to base, and he learns Steve has lost both parents to the war, and that he has always wanted to join himself but was never able to due to all of his medical conditions. When he actually begins to list them all, Peter understands why. He thinks Dr Erskine must really see something in him in order to risk bringing him into the military.

At base, dressed in their new uniforms, Steve and Peter join the line of soldiers currently waiting to meet their commanding officer. A few of them talk amongst themselves, but Peter and Steve stand quietly now, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes the first day.

“Gentlemen, I am Agent Carter. I supervise all operations for this division.” The woman matching the voice walks around them from the right. Her voice is both soothing and authoritative, as is the way she carries herself. She is a woman who demands respect immediately, and also one of the most gorgeous ones Steve has ever laid eyes on.

“What’s with the accent Queen Victoria? I thought I was signin’ up for the US Army.” Comes a voice to the left of them. Immediately, Peter knows the man has made a mistake.

“What’s your name soldier?” Agent Carter’s face shows absolutely no amusement.

“Gilmore Hodge, your majesty.” He’s so snarky Peter can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Step forward Hodge.” The man obeys the order almost immediately, to the surprise of both Steve and Peter. “Put your right foot forward.”

“We gonna wrassle? Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” Peter knows the punch is coming before she does it, yet he still lets out a soft laugh. Carter makes eye contact with him and gives him the smallest smile, just as another man in uniform approaches.

“Agent Carter.” She straightens her blazer.

“Colonel Phillips.”

“I can see that you are breaking in the candidates. That’s good!” The man – Colonel Phillips - comes to a stop in front of Hodge. “Get your ass up out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention until someone comes and tells you what to do.”

Hodge hops up fast, immediately complying. “Yes sir.”

“General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons, but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men.” When he gets to ‘men’ Peter sees his eyes connect with Steve’s tiny form, and his statement suddenly sounds like more of a question. The colonel looks over at Erskine, his face doing nothing to hide the disappointment in his eyes.

“And because they are going to get better. Much better.”

The colonel goes on to explain the goal is to create the best army in history, and he says every army starts with one man. As it turned out, that one man would be chosen by the end of a week’s worth of tests. They do all of the basic things you would expect an army to do, everyone competing to get the best time or the most push-ups, the best score. Peter doesn’t really compete, but he doesn’t bother hiding his ability to do them all with ease either, knowing Erskine wanted to see what he could do in action. He ends up with the best scores in most of the tests, while Steve is dead last in nearly all of them. This doesn’t seem to disappoint Erskine in the slightest.

-

“Faster ladies! Come on. My grandmother has more life in her, God rest her soul.” They are all doing push-ups, next to him Steve struggles to barely do one. Peter feels bad for him, knowing he is struggling to do all of the tests but he’s still pushing himself as hard as he can.

“Please tell me you aren’t really thinking about picking Rogers.” Peter’s super hearing picks up on Colonel Phillips’ voice before he’s even finished walking over to the truck in front of the group.

“I’m more than just thinking about it. He is the clear choice.”

“When you brought a 90-pound asthmatic onto my army base, I let it slide. I thought ‘What the hell, maybe he’d be useful to you, like a gerbil.’ I never thought you’d pick him.” They come to a stop at the truck, and Agent Carter has the group switch to jumping jacks. Peter can hear the struggle in Steve’s lungs.

“You stick a needle in that kid’s arm, it’s gonna go right through him. Look at that, he’s making me cry.” Peter glances over at Steve, and really the sight is something pitiful.

“I am looking for qualities beyond the physical.” Erskine explains.

“Do you know how long it took to set up this project? All the groveling I had to do in front of Senator What’s-His-Name’s committees?”

“Brandt. Yes, I know. I am well aware of your efforts.”

“Then throw me a bone. Hodge and Parks both passed every test we gave them. They’re strong, they’re fast, they obey orders. They are soldiers.”

“Hodge is a bully. As for Parks, I have already told you he is not going to be receiving the serum. He does not need it.”

“You don’t win a war with niceness Doctor.” Peter’s eyes follow Colonel Phillips, watching as he grabs a grenade from the truck. “You win wars with guts.”

Peter watches him pull the pin and toss the grenade, not feeling the familiar tingle of danger run up his spine, he immediately knows the bomb is a dud. This was a test.

“Grenade!” He yells, and everyone begins jumping away, scared out of their minds. Peter steps back, but watches in fascination as Steve immediately moves to wrap his entire frail little body around it, planning to risk his own life to protect everyone else around him.

“Get away!” He yells. “Get back!”

Both Peter and Erskine smile. Peter gets it now, why Erskine wants Steve.

Peter and Steve are similar in a lot of ways, and had that been a real grenade, Peter knows he would have done the very same thing. He knows this is the kind of person who power belongs to, and he knows if anyone else had gotten the curse that he had, they wouldn’t have used the abilities the same way.

Well, anyone else but Steve Rogers.

-

That same day they tell Steve he’s been chosen to go first, and Erskine comes to talk to Peter alone, a bottle of Schnapps half empty in his hand. He tells him about Johann Schmidt, how he believes all the myths and legends, and that he believes a superior man is meant to wield hidden powers left in the Earth by the Gods. Peter knows this to be mostly true, but doesn’t say anything about it. The Doctor also tells him about how Schmidt was the first to take the serum, and how the serum amplifies what a person is like on the inside, having made Schmidt a monster both inside and out.

Once again, Peter understands his decision to take Steve.

“Peter, I am telling you this because it is very likely Schmidt will try something. Though we have many precautions in place, HYDRA has eyes and ears everywhere. He will find out. In case something should happen to me or to my research, I am asking you to help Steven in any way you can. Win this war for all of us.”

Peter nods, determination in his gaze. “I understand Doctor. Isn’t there any way I can be there tomorrow? Just in case?”

“I am afraid not. I have pulled as many strings as I can just to get Steven in that pod first. I am trusting you to do what needs to be done.”

“I won’t let you down.”

~~

Peter gets word he is to ship out to London only an hour in advance. He doesn’t have much to pack anyways, but he does wish he could say goodbye to Steve. He wonders how the procedure went, and when he will see his friend as well as Dr Erskine again.

It’s the flight to London that he learns he won’t ever see the doctor again, but the procedure was successful. 

“Sorry you had to hear it from me pal.”

“It’s not your fault Mr Stark.”

“Oh please, I’m barely older than you. Call me Howard.” There’s amusement in Howard’s voice, but none of their faces match it.

“Not that I am complaining, but why am I being sent to London? And where’s Steve?” Peter’s seated near the front of the plane, Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips talking in hushed tones near the rear. Peter tries to catch a few words, but the plane is so loud it is already making it hard enough to hear Howard less than ten feet from him.

“Dr Erskine knew something like this could happen. He had certain plans in place, which included leaving me a very detailed letter about his experience with you. I convinced the Colonel you would be useful on the front lines, and if I can manage to get you in my lab too, I wouldn’t exactly be disappointed.”

“That depends on what you mean by getting me in your lab.”

“Cursed spiders causing miraculous abilities aren’t exactly common Parks. As for where Rogers is, Senator Brandt talked him into doing propaganda shows since Phillips wasn’t exactly keen on him joining us in London.”

“What? I thought the serum was a success.”

“It was, but that doesn’t mean he wants an inexperienced science experiment running around with a gun. His words, not mine.”

Peter sighs. He knows Erskine would hate his work going to something as trivial as that. Peter hates it too.

“If I am going to be in your lab, it’s going to be to help you with your work. Not as another experiment.”

-

Peter helps Howard in the lab in-between missions. They throw playful banter back and forth while working, becoming quick friends. Howard continues to ask about the spider, and Peter does his best to answer questions, but refuses to be submitted to any tests, never wanting the military anywhere near his DNA, even if he does trust Howard to some extent.

On one particular mission in November of 1943, he’s sent with two hundred soldiers from the 107th to Austria. It’s on that mission that he briefly meets the man Steve can’t seem stop talking about whenever they see each other, Bucky Barnes. They try their best against the forces of HYDRA but in the end, Peter still returns with less than half of the men he left with, and Bucky is one of the unlucky souls that doesn’t return at all.

Peter lies awake that night, unable to sleep as guilt eats at him. The next day he tries to convince Colonel Phillips to let him go back to try and save the rest, but is given a firm no. The Colonel tells him it’s too risky, even if he were to go alone.

-

Steve comes to base for a show just a few days later, his audience the remaining members of the 107th. They don’t seem all that impressed by the propaganda, yelling and throwing things at Steve to get him off-stage. Peter understands their frustration, but he also doesn’t believe Steve really did anything to deserve that sort of treatment.

Peter goes to find Steve after the show, and sees Peggy has beat him to it. He is about to turn around and go wait for a better time to speak with Steve when he catches part of the conversation the pair are having.

“Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than half returned. Your audience contained what was left of the 107th. The rest were killed or captured.”

“The 107th?” He hears the panic in Steve’s voice, and then he is on his feet, rushing toward the base where Colonel Phillips sits under a tent planning their next move, Peggy behind him. Peter doesn’t need to hear the conversation to know where this is going. Instead, he decides to go wait in Steve’s tent with his bag packed, knowing he would be there soon to pack a bag himself.  

When Steve does get to the tent less than ten minutes later, he looks surprised to see Peter. “Let me come with you.”

“What?” Steve’s already grabbing things and shoving them into his bag, anxiety clear on his face.

“I was with the 107th on that mission. I asked to go back out there, but Colonel Phillips wouldn’t let me. Please, let me help you.” He’s practically begging, but he would never forgive himself if he let Steve go alone to try and rescue the men which he should have been able to bring back safely himself.

“What exactly do the two of you plan to do? Walk to Austria?” Both men turn their heads to Peggy as she enters the tent.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“The Colonel is devising a strategy. If he detects that-” Steve interrupts her.

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late.” Steve throws his jacket on and grabs the metal shield he has been using as a prop for his shows, then exits the tent with both Peter and Peggy on his heels.

“You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?” The question is directed at Peggy. Peter puts his belongings in the car next to Steve’s and hops in the passenger seat.

“Every word.”

“Then you gotta let us go.”

“I can do more than that.”

Peggy comes back with one of the showgirl’s helmets, the letter A painted on the front, and Howard as their pilot.

-

Howard gets them almost all the way there, but bombs begin to go off all around them. Steve and Peter make the decision to jump before they get all the way in, urging Howard to turn around immediately.

Once on the ground they sneak onto one of the trucks coming into base, easily taking out the two HYDRA soldiers inside. They wait until the truck parks to sneak out, Steve leading the way onto the roof.

Inside the base it’s a lot more sneaking around, which Peter happens to be rather good at, and it turns out so is Steve. They pass a set of what looks like some sort of ammunition, except it glows a bright blue. Steve pockets one of the clips to bring back to base for Howard.

When they finally find the cells, they subdue the guard and begin unlocking them. Bucky is nowhere to be seen. Steve gives the men instructions on how to get out, and is immediately ready to go looking for Bucky again. He pauses on his exit to look at Peter.

“Are you coming?”

“Recusing Bucky is your mission. I think I should make sure the rest of these men get out of here in one piece. I owe them that.” Steve nods, then takes off out the door. Everyone else, including Peter, begin to make their exit, causing chaos all around the base.

In the end, Steve and Peter return to base with another hundred or so men, including Bucky, following close behind. 

-

That night everyone goes out to a local bar for drinks. Steve goes around asking who wants to go back out with him and help wipe HYDRA off the map, and surprisingly a decent few say yes. Unsurprisingly, so does Bucky.

“What about you Peter? You came with me for the rescue, will you join us?” Peter gives Steve a smile.

“As if you could keep me away. I came out here to make a difference Steve, and there is no better place to do that then with you.” Peter doesn’t mention Erskine asking him to stay with Steve, because even if he hadn’t asked, Peter would still have agreed. This is where he was needed the most, he could feel it.

-

Howard makes Steve a shield after hearing that it seems to be the man’s preferred weapon. He makes the suit at Steve’s request. It looks good on him, making him look somewhat like a superhero while still being properly fitted for war. Peter almost asks Howard for one himself, but decides against it.

The Howling Commandos is what they end up calling their group of chaotic men. They wipe base after base off the map, the group all getting to know each other rather well during the missions.

Then on one particular mission, they ambush a train Dr Zola is said to be on, headed toward another base. A hole gets blown in the side during their fighting, and Bucky falls, assumingly to his death. Steve doesn’t take it well to say the least, because that night he sits alone in that same bar as before, attempting to drink his sorrows away, the bar in ruin around him thanks to the war.

-

Colonel Phillips interrogates Zola for hours, and the next day they have enough intel to send everyone out on another mission, as it turns out, the last one they would go on together.

Steve enters through the front, causing a scene and effectively getting himself kidnapped, which of course is just part of the plan. Peter and three others use grappling hooks to swing in through the window, clearing the room quickly. Schmidt makes a run for it in all of the chaos, so Steve runs after him, shield in hand. Peter follows, doing his best to clear the way of any HYDRA soldiers that get in Steve’s way.

They lose sight of each other after Steve follows Schmidt through a door that he manages to keep open with his shield just long enough to slip through, but Peter and Peggy are quick to find another way to catch up with him, stealing Schmidt’s car and speeding down the runway after him.

They make it just in time for Steve to jump onto the plane, Peter bringing the car to a stop just in time for one of the wheels to be hanging off, but not sending them over the edge. Right before he jumps, Peggy surprises them both by speaking up.

“Wait!” She pulls him down for what Peter is sure is their first kiss. “Good luck.”

Steve turns to look at Peter. “What? I’m not kissing you.” Peter can’t help but laugh, Steve smiling and making the jump to the plane without another word.

On the edge of the runway, Peter throws the car into reverse until the front two tires catch on the edge and finally, they are safely planted on the metal ground. He turns the car around, and drives full speed back toward the base.

-

The last time he speaks to Steve is with Peggy by his side, over the communications to Schmidt’s plane.

“Come in, this is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?” They both run to the seat at the same time, Morita already seated, having been waiting for any word to come through from the other side.

“Captain Rogers, where is your-?” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because with one shared look, Peggy and him are switching places and she is grabbing the intercom in her hand.

“Steve is that you? Are you alright?”

“Peggy, Schmidt’s dead!” That should be good news, so why did Steve sound so panicked?

“Steve what’s going on?”

“Peter? The plane’s rigged to blow.”

“Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” Peter groans in frustration, anxiety building. If the plane was rigged to blow, there were very few options for a safe landing.

“I can try and force it down.”

“I-I can get Howard on the line. He’ll know that to do.” Peggy’s might be in worse shape than Peter, but no one could really be sure. Both of them are close to tears now, but Peter has never seen Peggy look so vulnerable.

“There’s not enough time. This thing’s moving too fast and it’s heading for New York.” A pause and then, “I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don’t do this. We have time. We can work it out.” Despite her trying to reassure him over the radio, Peter knows they don’t have nearly enough time.

“Steve is there any sort of emergency pod or autopilot you can reset? Anything to where you can set the plane to crash but get out safely?” He’s unsure how he manages to get the words out without his voice cracking, so many emotions flooding his senses all at once.

“Not from where I am sitting. I already tried overwriting the autopilot but it’s locked in place. I’d need a genius to overwrite it. Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere, if I wait any longer a whole lot of people are going to die.” Peter feels a tear roll down his face, and when he looks at Peggy, her face mirrors his own. They were both losing a loved one today, Peggy an almost lover, and Peter a brother, if only in war.

“This is my choice.” Steve speaks solemnly.

“Peggy.”

“I’m here.”

“I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.” Peter places a hand on her shoulder, she reaches her own up to hold his.

“Alright. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it.”

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?” She’s talking through tears now, but she manages to speak clearly despite that. Peter remains quiet, letting her talk Steve through this. He isn’t sure he could speak at this point if he tried.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow. I’d hate to step on your-” The line goes dead.

“Steve?” Peggy lets out a sob. Peter clenches her hand a little tighter, releasing a shaky breath as the tears overflow.

“Steve?” It’s no use, they both know it’s too late, but she can’t help it. She has to try. Peter feels eyes on them, and turns, making eye contact with Colonel Phillips who at some point made his way here. Peter couldn’t be sure when, too distracted before to notice, but the Colonel’s face shows it was long enough that the man knows what happened. He turns and walks away, leaving the two of them to mourn alone together.  

“Steve?”