#where i was left in a lab and told to put together equipment under time pressure and no instructions. which was actully fun lol. and told

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[gabriellerudessa]

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - Part XVI

"Norm stopped under the doorway, his stomach sinking: would Marigold ask why Vault 4 was open to contact with the surface and his not? If he mentioned the experiments there, by Vault-Tec, it would lead to questions about his own Vault… Damn it.

Maybe it was time he found some courage and told her everything he had learned about his own Vault."

AO3 | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI (Smut) | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI (Smut) | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX | Part XXXI | Part XXXII | Part XXXIII | Part XXXIV (Smut) | Part XXXV | Part XXXVI (END)

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Words: 4.605

Warnings: None

XVI

That terminal gave him trouble. It was the highest level of security he had ever encountered, and after ten minutes breaking his head against it, Norm forced himself to take a pause.

Just then he noticed his can of food above the desk, lying forgotten, unfinished.

“For God’s sake…” He mumbled, taking it and eating while squinting at the screen, the sound of the rad-storm outside not as muffled as on the ground floor, which just worsened his mood.

It wasn’t just a matter of “Marigold asked” anymore, he was genuinely curious and pissed off at the thing.

He tapped his foot on the ground, thinking, and threw a look at the desk. It was clear that hacking it would be way slower than he could deal with at the moment, so maybe figuring out the password would be better.

So, Norm started opening the drawers; maybe they would have some clue or even the damn password noted.

The first had a bunch of different chems, some that he didn’t even recognize, and a roll of white tape; he left it as it was, mentally noting to show it all to Marigold before deciding what to do.

The second had two shoeboxes crammed in together, dried plants in them, properly identified; all of them were described in Goose’s notes. He also left it as it was, hoping to get a chance of actually using the lab equipment.

The third drawer had an assortment of empty flasks, empty syringes and empty stimpaks. The fourth drawer was empty, and he almost gave up, but a tinkling sound echoed when he closed the drawer. Norm opened it again, and a golden ring glimmered inside.

He picked it up carefully, immediately felling the weight and coldness of the piece. A lump blocked his throat as he recognized it as a wedding ring. Norm swallowed, carefully looking it in the light and seeing words engraved inside the band: “Forever 01.19.2074”. Pre-war. A Ghoul, or someone that had used it after, not caring about the date? He wasn’t sure if it mattered, but he still wondered.

Norm blinked, looked at the terminal again, and typed the words and date engraved, exactly as they were.

The terminal unlocked, and he carefully put the ring back in the same drawer before looking at the screen. Even if the owner never came back… It seemed wrong to take it away.

The very first line said “Welcome back, Esther Greenie”; Norm assumed that was the previous inhabitant. Bellow it, there were three main entries in the terminal, the first named “Camera feed”, then “Recipes”, and he almost started by that one… Then he noticed the last one, “Vaults”, and his hands were faster than his brain in choosing it.

It opened a long list, of years followed by a Vault and its number.

He noticed a “Vault 21” – the Vault Goose told him about, in a faraway place called New Vegas –, accompanied by the year 2280, and opened it.

It was a long entry, started by a set of coordinates, then talking about how the person – Esther? – had visited it in the year mentioned, detailing about how someone called “Mr. House” had taken control of it – the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where –, about what experiments Vault-Tec had conducted in it.

He went back, and found “Vault 33”, the year “2291”. Just one year before the last time the metal door of that hideout had been opened. One of the most recent files too. The paragraph inside was brief, coordinates then talking about how the door had no signs of being forced.

Norm started opening file after file after file, knots inside his stomach at each one he read. Most of the Vaults that Esther-person had only heard about from faraway travelers and merchants, and only had the most general location, like “The Commonwealth” or “Capital Wasteland”. Most talked about experiments from Vault-Tec and how there were no survivors after it all went to south.

Damn it. Damn it. His Vault and the other two… If anything, were an exception, if only because they had higher-executives of Vault-Tec inside and it was in their interest to make sure they were successful, but there were so many more… How many lives had Vault-Tec wasted in those experiments?

More than ever he saw how “Reclamation Day” and everything else was a lie. One of the biggest of them all.

The very last entrance also appeared to be the oldest. 2265, Vault 4. There was a double set of coordinates, and it seemed to be constantly updated, the first paragraph mentioning it had done hybridization experiments, then stopped, each subsequent paragraph talking about a specific year and what trade with the inhabitants had occurred. As of 2291, the last time it had been updated, the Vault was still active, with Vault-Dwellers inside.

His mouth dry, he put the coordinates in his map.

It wasn’t far.

It wasn’t far.

He knew Lucy. If she had noticed some giant Vault doors, she would’ve tried to get inside and make contact.

He jumped up, walking to the door; he needed to talk with Marigold, they had to at least stop by and ask if some Lucy Maclean had appeared. Maybe details about what the hell Vault-Tec had done there.

Norm stopped under the doorway, his stomach sinking: would Marigold ask why Vault 4 was open to contact with the surface and his not? If he mentioned the experiments there, by Vault-Tec, it would lead to questions about his own Vault… Damn it.

Maybe it was time he found some courage and told her everything he had learned about his own Vault.

---------

Marigold did her best to hang the pants in the towel hanger to dry out, grimacing at the sewing; she hadn’t brought any cotton thread – nor extra clothes – since she wasn’t supposed to travel so long, so she had to make do with what she had. The gloves were easier to drape over the sink, and those didn’t look about to be forever stained by blood.

She put her bracers back and left the bathroom with the medicine tin, empty can and fork in hands, hearing Norm typing at the terminal. A look at her lower half, a sigh, and she went into the bedroom, determined to search the drawer and wardrobe for something she could use to cover herself.

She was all for Norm taking an eyeful anytime he wanted, but if they had to get out into the Wasteland before her pants finished drying, Marigold very much preferred to do it without being butt-naked, offering a snack to any blood-sucking animal, thank you very much.

Marigold found a box of ammo compatible with her hunting rifle – hell fucking yes – hidden between blankets in the drawer. The blankets smelled of dust and a slight tinge of mold, and some were moth-eaten, but she still managed to find two relatively intact and not too bulky that they could fold and store in her backpack and in the Bounty Hunter’s bag – she figured Norm could use it, it would complement well his sidebag.

The wardrobe had only clothes: pants and shirts and t-shirts and even some feminine underwear. Everything she was seeing was too small for her, whoever owned them shorter and thinner. She was almost giving up and just tying one of the bedsheets around her hips when she found, in the very last drawer, a skirt, the color dark red, the fabric slightly rough to the touch.

It was big, and not as moth-eaten as everything else, and there were chalk lines in it; it seemed someone had intended to cut and reuse the fabric, but had never gotten to it.

Straightening and shrugging, Marigold tried it on; the buttons kept it tight to the waist, but it flowed loose along her hips and thighs, reaching her knees, not impeding her movements in any way.

That was a miracle and the skirt was definitely coming back with her.

Carrying everything, she peeked into the chem-lab; Norm was at the terminal, one hand holding his own can of food with the fork stabbed inside, not typing, but clearly focused on reading something on the screen. Smiling, she left him to it and descended to the first floor.

The kitchen table was clean, her backpack, hunting rifle, the bag-belt and the Bounty Hunter’s bag above it. A peek as she put the medicine tin inside, and everything of hers was clean, carefully put away, and it all made warmth spread inside her chest. Smiling, she tied one blanket to the outside of her backpack and stored the other inside the bag.

Marigold took a moment to take a better look at the shotgun. Despite the use of teeth as ammo, the gun was well made and well cared for. Either they could trade it, if they found a trader, or she could teach Norm to shoot it, if he wanted to. It didn’t need great skill to be used, and as far as weight went, she had seen heavier guns.

Satisfied, she took everything to the bedroom upstairs – she trusted he had locked the door, but she wasn’t about to just let everything of theirs lying around so close to it.

Norm was still focused on the terminal, fork dangling from his mouth, almost seeming to not be blinking. Apparently he had already learned how to tune out the sounds of the rad-storm.

Snickering in silence, she went down again, determined to search better the space they had dubbed “storage room”; it had a lot of boxes, shelves and other storage spaces she really wanted to go through.

Marigold crossed in front of the arched doorway leading into the living room, slowed to a stop, and looked inside it.

She bit her lower lip. The bookshelf was right there, not filled to the brim, but still more books together than she had ever seen in her life, looking… Not brand new, but in way better condition than she had come to expect; in their cursory recognition of the place, she hadn’t really stopped to look at the books in it. Maybe…

She threw a look at the storage room entrance, then back at that bookshelf.

“Who are you trying to fool, Marigold?” she strode towards the books, breathing deeply. That would be a hard search, but if it panned out…

---------

After she deciphered the first few books titles and authors, ignoring the headache trying to start, she easily noticed the previous inhabitant had carefully organized them by the author’s last name, and jumped to the last occupied shelf.

T… Tem… Temple. No, next one.

Tenny… Tennyson. Not yet.

Ter… Terhune.

Fuck, how many books from authors with names starting with T had survived the bombs?

To… Tol… Tolkien.

Her finger stopped on the book, her breath hitching. A cursory glance showed that she recognized the general form of the name on the three following books.

Four books. Four.

Marigold took the first out, squinting at the cover. Faded light green, a mountain range at the top, a sinuous serpentine dragon at the bottom, a green satin ribbon appearing between the pages. Slowly, she read the title: The Hobbit. She had heard about it, but hadn’t dreamed of ever putting her hands on it.

She took the next one, and immediately recognized the faded red cover, the golden title gleaming, red satin ribbon tickling her hand. The Fellowship of the Ring. Next book, same red cover, same golden title, same red ribbon: The Two Towers.

Marigold hesitated to take the fourth book, breath slow and trembling, but she finally did it.

There. Red cover, golden letters, red satin ribbon, and slowly, so painfully slowly, she confirmed the title: The Return of the King.

“Holly fucking shit. I’ll finally know how the fuck it ends. Fucking finally.” And she was definitely taking all the other books with her too. She had never read The Hobbit, and the other two were in way better condition than hers.

Marigold sat at the sofa, books in her lap, and carefully opened the third book of The Lord of the Rings.

It would be a long and painful reading.

And she could barely wait for it.

---------

The bathroom was open when he left the chem-lab, Marigold’s pants hanging from the towel hanger, her fingerless gloves wet and draped over the sink, but otherwise empty. A look into the bedroom showed her things and the Bounty Hunter’s bag above the drawer, a blanket rolled up and tied to the outside of the backpack.

Norm went down the stairs; the arched doorway to the kitchen was just to the side of it, and a look inside showed it was empty too.

In the end, he found her in the living room.

She had taken off her boots, sitting in the sofa with her side against the back, knees bent, the socks in her feet old and stained and mended multiple times. Apparently she had managed to find a skirt, her thighs and knees covered in a rich dark red fabric.

What most struck him was the pile of books neatly beside her boots in the floor, another book supported by her knees, open. Marigold was all curved, face close to the book, squinting at it, a finger slowly trailing the page, her lips mouthing letters and words. Comfortable and totally absorbed in it, in trying to decipher what he knew was hard for her.

He dry-swallowed and retreated a step, determined to let her to it, he could talk with her about Vault 4 later… But his foot stuck the doorway, a dull thud, and she raised her head, the soft pretty smile appearing one second later.

“Norm-boy.” The smile disappeared and she started to leave her position. “Did you discover anything worrying-”

“No, no!” he tranquilized her, stepping closer. “Didn’t look everything in it yet, needed a pause, but I think we’re clear.”

“That’s good.” The smile returned. “Why don’t you sit then?”

Norm closed the rest of the distance and lowered himself to the empty space, gingerly, eyes on her, and he could feel the slight frown in his eyebrows.

The furniture was old, lumpy. It still was better than all the grounds he had sat in the last days.

“Will we need to sleep in shifts? I know there’s a metal door, but…”

She shook her head, still smiling.

“With the rad-storm, we only really need to worry about ghouls and any other animal resistant to radiation. From these two, only non-feral ghouls may be able to open the door, so we should be safe enough that the both of us can sleep at the same time. Normal humans would have to either be insane or have a lot of extra supplies to deal with rads to risk travelling through it.”

The explanation made him relax more in his place, leaning against the back, hands loosely crossed between his legs.

So a full night of sleep awaited him, hopefully. He could barely wait.

“Thinking of enjoying an early night?”

He looked back at Marigold, and she just watched him, mismatched eyes calm, lips in a loose smile, not even exactly the soft one anymore. Relaxed. The most she had been since they had left the ranch.

“No.” he wetted his lips. “What are you reading?”

She raised the cover for him to read: The Return of the King.

Ah. The Lord of the Rings. They had it in the Vault’s library. Lucy had tried to make him read the trilogy, so determined to make him involved in the family book club, convinced that he just hadn’t found his genre of books yet.

He hadn’t finished the first chapter. Had barely thought of the books since then.

“That’s the third book, right?”

“Yeah. Mika gave me the first two when I made nineteen, but we never found the third, we’ve been curious for years.” She put the book back down, her smile big, caressing the pages carefully, eyes on it, shining.

How could he suddenly be jealous of a book?

“I remember what you said about reading. It must have been hard to.” He forced the words out, pass the jealousy, still watching her.

Marigold nodded, sighing.

“Hard, long, painful… But it was worth it.”

“How so?”

She looked back at him.

“It’s hard to explain, but… It’s a mix of things. There’s the characters, and how they are trying to do what’s right. And it’s hard, they are all different but they have each other, they come together for a common goal, and even when they get separated, it’s still the same goal.” The soft smile came back. “It reminds me a bit of my family, you know?”

Norm found himself smiling along. He didn’t have the barest idea of which characters or goal she was talking, but there was this… Fondness and affection in how she said all that that he got it, a little bit.

“You said a mix of things. What else?”

“The descriptions.” She breathed deeply, eyes again on the book. “Tolkien describes everything with so much detail… The only trees I’ve ever seen are the ones close to Filly. Pictures are hard to come by these days, at least around here. Before reading, I had no real idea of how big a forest could be, how grass could extend for miles and be fucking green and alive instead of dried and dead looking. I know they’re not real places, but the author must’ve seen places like these. It’s the only way he could describe it all so well.”

Norm kept smiling, but there was a lump in his throat.

The Vault had pictures. Magazines with photos. Holovideos. Damn, they farmed corn in the Vault, he knew how green plants could be, had seen them, live and in records.

He had been privileged in having so many things showing how the world had been at one point, many decades before the bombs, hadn’t he?

And beyond that… The enthusiasm she showed for the story was… Enchanting.

“I could read the book aloud for you. At least while we travel together.” The words left him faster than he could actually think about the offer, but once the words were out… He didn’t wish to take them back.

He wanted that, more moments with Marigold before they went their separated paths, maybe see the story through her eyes, a Wastelander, instead of the eyes of the Vault. It seemed more interesting.

Marigold’s eyes raised back at him, blinking, shocked.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s a long book, and maybe you have more you want to do-”

“I am, Marigold.” He cut her, smiling as he extended a hand.

She looked at the hand, breathed deeply, and carefully put the book in it.

The book was on the fourth page, and he slowly turned back to the first. He breathed deeply, squashed the uncertainty and fear trying to make him chicken out, and started reading aloud: “Pippin looked out from the shelter of Gandalf’s cloak…”

---------

Marigold could barely believe when Norm offered to read for her. Had half-expected him to back out, but he didn’t.

The words seemed to float on his soft, low voice, the story and places and characters the most alive they had ever been to her.

No slow reading, no stuttering and going back because she had misread something and then things stopped making sense, no reading letter-by-letter-by-letter and putting it all together in her head to the best she could, no headache making her stop after just some pages.

No.

Just a flow, almost endless, no pain, just… The story and Norm.

She hugged her legs, chin on her knees, watching Norm as much as hearing his voice. At some point he had relaxed more, half-turning in the sofa, one leg up on it and the other crossed over it, foot still touching the ground, a shoulder against the backrest, long fingers splayed against the pages and accompanying his progress, eyes cast down… His hair remained as he had combed in the morning, his cheeks still marked with her lipstick, even if a little blurred at the edges – Marigold was pretty sure he hadn’t even noticed.

She wished she had a way of taking a picture of him at that moment, to keep with her the rest of her life, no matter where their paths took them.

That warmth in her chest she had noticed earlier was back with a vengeance, her heart beating faster, harder. Marigold blinked at Norm, and for one moment her brain tuned out of the story, her breath hitching.

Maybe she was wildly wrong, maybe she was being hasty in assuming what exactly she felt, but that… At that exact moment…

It felt a lot like love. Of the romantic type.

And if it wasn’t… Well. After those last days, and how Norm had just been… Norm, Marigold was pretty sure she could easily fall in love with him.

Maybe she should. A hundred times and more. It didn’t seem or sound like something she would ever regret, not at that moment.

What she would do with it was another question. It wasn’t as if she had truly dwelled on any possibility of the type once the “Black Widow troubles” started appearing.

Admit it but keep it all light and casual, pursue a relationship, don’t ever acknowledge it to him? All valid options. She didn’t know which one to favor.

Marigold was only certain that she had no problem with the feeling in itself.

Fuck. Ma had been right all along in scheming for them to travel together, hadn’t she?

---------

Norm kept reading, page after page after page, ignoring how self-conscious he felt; not only he wasn’t the best of readers, he didn’t know that world and those characters as well as he could to actually bring them to life, not the way he felt Marigold deserved.

For God’s sake, he barely understood about what the story was.

He risked looking up as one chapter ended and another began, and it struck him how focused Marigold seemed: hugging her legs, chin on her knees, eyes shining, that soft, pretty smile… Not at the book, but at him.

It was the most focused and softly anyone had ever looked at him. As if he had hung the stars and the moon in the sky.

Swallowing, he looked back at the book and started the next chapter, his heart hammering inside his chest with so much strength that he feared it would tear right off of it.

He didn’t know what to think of that look. What it meant.

It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t teasing, flirting, nothing like those. Just… Soft and focused.

And his own reaction? He didn’t know anymore what was going on with him.

Whatever it was… It was going fast, it made him a mess, it made him jealous, and he was sure it wasn’t purely sexual, because at that moment, he knew that he would read a whole library aloud for Marigold, as long as she kept looking at him like that.

---------

He lost any sense of time as he read, just a yawning sound eventually interrupting him. Using a finger to mark the place in the page, Norm looked up at Marigold, noticing her eyes dropping, even while still smiling and being focused on him. Outside, the rad-storm still raged on.

“I think we should go to sleep.”

Marigold opened her mouth, and it was clear she was about to protest… Then she closed it, breathed deeply, shoulders dropping.

“What’s the hour on your Pip-Boy?”

Norm turned his forearm enough to look at the screen, sighing.

“Almost midnight.”

“Fuck.” Marigold groaned, turning in place and landing her feet on the ground. “You’re right, we should.”

Norm pulled the satin ribbon over to mark the page and closed the book as Marigold pulled on her boots.

“Think the rad-storm will still be going on in the morning?” he asked as he got up, and Marigold stopped as she got the other books, eyebrows frowning and head leaning to the side, staying like that for a long minute.

“It’s hard to say with certainty, but it’s possible. We’ll have to wake early to be certain." Marigold finally said, a hand at the top of his back pushing him slightly towards the stairs, switching off the lights as they went.

“If it’s going on?”

“We wait, get as ready was we can, maybe sleep more. If not, we can leave, even if later in the day.”

Norm nodded, slowly going up the stairs, feeling in conflict; if it didn’t stop, it meant at least one more day of travel, which meant more delay in finding Lucy… But also one more day with Marigold, possibly with more moments like the one they just had.

Damn it. He was a mess.

He heard Marigold yawning behind him, and found himself doing the same just as he reached the doorway to the bedroom… And stopped in place, blinking.

For some reason, as he climbed up, he had totally forgotten the bedroom had only one bed. A double one, but still just one.

Marigold circled him, almost no limp in her steps, taking the last book from him and storing all of them in her backpack. He remained in place, unconsciously squirming as she took off the cape and belt with her knives, keeping the weird one she had used against the feral ghouls. She took off the boots, but the leather bracers remained… And just then she noticed he was still under the doorway, blinking and squinting at him.

“Norm-boy? Everything’s fine?”

Norm jumped in place, feet kick starting and taking him inside.

“Yeah, sure.” He could deal with that. He was an adult man, and it was just sharing a bed… No matter how beautiful he found her or all the earlier horny thoughts and all the flirting and build-up and whatever else.

It wasn’t even as if most of his sexual experience involved beds… People in the Vault usually just went at it using the nearest surface.

He took off the Pip-Boy for the first time since Nip-Nip and James, shaking his hand and forearm at the missing weight. It, his sidebag and the coat went together with everything on the drawer’s surface. If she was getting a little more comfortable, he figured he could too.

“I’ll sleep closer to the door.” He looked in time to see her storing the knife under the pillow. “The light switch is this side, I’ll wait for you.” Marigold nodded at the bed, hands on her waist.

“Sure, thanks.” He swallowed, taking off his boots and following her example, with the knife under the pillow, pulling the blanket.

He was still getting into the bed when she turned off the light, darkness swallowing them. The bed dipped, and then they were both lying down under the blanket, back to back, and he did his best to ignore a lot of things: how uncomfortable the mattress was, how close she was, the smell of dust clinging to the bedsheets and pillows, the warmth coming from her…

“Good night, Norm-boy.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

It didn’t take long for him to hear her soft snores, to feel her back relaxing against him.

That helped him, his anxious brain finally getting it was really just about sleep, and soon he was the one relaxing, barely noticing when he fell asleep.

[addicted-to-dc]

Survivor (Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader) - Part 3

Part 3 of 4 is done!!! It’s really fun to revisit old fics. I might go through some old ones and revise them. 2017 me was not good at editing so we’ll see how that goes.

Word count: 1,327

Warning: Mentions of self harm, death, Dark!Jason, etc.

Looking up at the sky, you wondered why it was always raining when you saw Bruce. Maybe it’s the universe weeping for you since you couldn’t do it yourself. Reaching up, you can feel a few droplets land and slide down your fingers.

You couldn’t move, not with a bola restricting your other arm and legs. Maybe it was the fact you fell for so long. Your wounds slowly try to fix themselves, but it’s not fast enough. You were never this close to death before, not even when you were still under Joker’s knife. Shivering, it’s as if you’re stuck in between life and death. Your injuries should have killed you, but your wounds keep stitching them batch together. It’s not fast enough.

The earpiece you had is long gone, and you’re not even sure if Jason knows what happened to you. Allowing your hand to drift down, you firmly grasp the hilt of your knife. You just need to tip the scale, then you’d heal without feeling every molecule stitch itself back together.

“(Y/N), don’t!!”

It’s too late, the blade met your heart in an instant. Letting out a breath, you withdraw the knife and let it fall to the side. You see a blur of blue and black, but it’s too late. Blinking slowly, the world fades into liquid as your body finally shuts down.

You don’t know how long it’ll be until you wake up again, but what’s left of the Lazarus Pit in your veins will ensure you will. It’s almost like receiving an anesthetic, staying awake until you’re suddenly out. It doesn’t take long to wake up in a groggy state.

Blinking, you feel a blade against your chest. Sucking in a breath, you grasp the blade and rip it out of whatever hand that was slicing you open. You hear a scream as you instinctively roll over and shove the blade against the woman cutting you.

“Where am I?” you ask, greedily sucking in air as she struggles to find words. “Answer me!!”

“The m-morgue,” she whimpers, hands shakily raised as she points to the door. “The exit’s that way.”

“And my equipment?”

“It’s in evidence, please don’t kill me,” she begs, trying to move away from the knife.

You get up, scalpel still in your hand as you walk away. The woman lets out a sob of relief just as you grab a spare lab coat, quickly covering your naked body as you walk out the door. You collect whatever blood leaked out of your wound and drag it across your eyes.

The rest of your escape is blurry, full of screams and gunshots as you wreak havoc in the police station. You’re an unstoppable force, taking down anyone in your path. One, three, five, no, seven cops tried to stop you, even popping off a few rounds before running away. Most of them didn’t even escape their cubicle.

Hit after hit, shot after shot, you went through everything despite the pain. Once you finally find your clothing, you quickly put it on and run for the nearest exit. There is still a haze to your vision, blurring everything slightly as you move forward.

The flashing lights nearly blind you, but there is one thing that makes you freeze. Among the light there is darkness, a silhouette. It’s one that you’d never mistake.

You can only stutter out the first letter of his name, confusion dominating your mind as you turn heel and run. Shots go off and a few tear into your skin. It doesn’t stop you as you flee. Your whole body screams at you as you try to gain ground. All of your gadgets were taken apart by the time you got to them, so you’re screwed on that end. You could only climb whatever building you could, climbing in height as you try to orient yourself.

Where’s Jason?

Turning around, you come face to face with a bola. It wraps around your whole body, causing you to slam onto the ground. Grunting, you turn around and focus on the person tugging on the ropes around you. The red helmet told you everything you needed.

“Jason?” you ask, sighing when the ropes slide off of you. “Wha- what’s going on?”

“You did it,” he says, pulling you up. “You were amazing.”

“I did it?” you stutter out.

He squeezes your shoulders and turns you around to look at the carnage you left behind. The police headquarters was on fire. Cops lay in pieces on the cement, and you can’t help but retch. You couldn’t have done that. Stepping away from Jason, your eyes move to the bola that he through at you. It’s the same one that was around you when you fell. Your eyes move to his midsection, noticing the spare grapple attached to his belt.

“You… wanted me to die.”

His head snaps in your direction, the flames making him look more like a demon than a man. You take a step back instinctively, but he prevents you from moving any further. One of his hands still has a grip on your shoulder.

“No, no, no, you have it all wrong,” he argues, blocking your view from the burning building.

You remove yourself from his grip, your anger rising, “You wanted me to die! Are you insane?”

“You needed to know what it feels like,” he whispers, his hand gripping your face. “I needed you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

He releases your face to remove his helmet, letting it fall to the ground. He’s laying all of his cards on the table. No more masks, no more lies.

“After I saved you that day,” Jason admits, not able to look you in the eye, “I knew you wouldn’t be free until you died, not until you feel how I feel. Not until I know I will never lose you again.”

“And the answer was killing me yourself?” you shout, finally pushing him away from you. “I woke up in the fucking morgue as I was being sliced open! Did you feel your insides becoming your outsides? No! Cause you were already fucking dead when they cut you open!”

Jason is quiet for a few moments, and all he can say is: “I’m not the one who drove the dagger through your heart. You wanted this as much as I did. To save Gotham, to save you.”

You shake your head, too confused to piece anything together. Your heart is still pounding out of your chest, every fiber of your being shaking from your body jumpstarting itself. You want to run away, to find a spot to collect your thoughts, but you can’t move. The thoughts swarming in your head were going too fast for your body to even recognize a command.

“Come on, we have to get out of the open.”

You barely register his words until he grasps your arm, making you flinch. He gently guides you to the edge, grabbing his grappling hook from his belt. Your brain makes a split-second decision and makes you grab the spare.

“(Y/N)!”

You run in the opposite direction from everything, leaving Jason and the police station behind. Tears flow freely as you grapple from building to building, running as far away as you could. Before you know it, you’re hiding underneath the Sprang Bridge.

The rumble of cars over you overpower the voices in your head, finally giving you a break from everything. Backing up, you force yourself into a crevice in the stone and curl into yourself. You haven’t been here in a while, and not even Jason knows about this hiding spot. No one ever found you here, except Bruce.

Leaning your head against the cold rock, you cast a glance at what little Gotham you can see from your vantage point. It hurts so much, too much, to be back home. You weren’t ready. Maybe you’ll never be ready.

[iam93percentstardust]

Hey, I hope you're had a very pleasant birthday and birthday month! If the prompte are still open: Can you do Stony with Tony finally and sorta randomly confessing his love to Steve and Steve only then realizing that what he feels for Tony is romantic love as well?

Hello! Sure thing! Quick note: there’s a change between present and past tense for a flashback, for anyone who doesn’t like that kind of thing

As always, everything I write is also on ao3

~

“I love you,” Tony says, and Steve doesn’t quite know what to do about that.

He won’t say that he’s thought about it before because he hasn’t. But he won’t say that he’s never thought about it either—because he has, occasionally, glanced at Tony’s ass outlined by his perfectly tailored pants and appreciated the sight, and he has, once or twice, wondered what Tony’s warm, sparkling eyes would look like when hazy with pleasure. But a quick, glancing thought that he immediately moves on from is not the same as being attracted enough to Tony to think about asking him out or anything past that.

And now that he’s faced with that question, he doesn’t know what to say. Is he supposed to thank Tony? Is he supposed to acknowledge his feelings and say that he doesn’t feel the same way? Is he just supposed to ignore what Tony said? This is why he has so much trouble with his dates—he never knows how to act in a way that isn’t awkward. No wonder Natasha recently declared him hopeless after he came back from his last date covered in her sticky drink because he accidentally called her a dame.

“I love you,” Tony says and Steve doesn’t know what to do about that, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to do anything, because Tony nods immediately afterward, says, “Good talk,” and turns and walks away like he wasn’t expecting an answer—or at least, not one that he would like.

Steve doesn’t know what to do about that either.

~

“Do you think I’m in love with Tony?” he asks Natasha later that day when they’re relaxing on the couch while some mindless sitcom plays in the background.

Natasha blinks at him and then caps the nail polish she was using and puts it on the coffee table. “Do you think you’re in love with Tony?” she asks carefully.

He frowns at her. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I should just tell you what to think.”

He sighs and takes another sip from his Coke, only to realize that it’s empty. Yeah, that describes his life pretty well. “I’m gonna get another one,” he says, standing up. “Do you want something?”

She shakes her head. It’s not until he’s in the kitchen, grabbing another Coke from the fridge, before she asks, “What brought this on?”

Steve thinks about the vulnerable look on Tony’s face as he said those three words. He probably wouldn’t like it if Steve told Natasha what they’d discussed. Or, well, he’d probably act like it was fine but he’d secretly feel hurt and might put the workshop into blackout mode again. Steve hates it when the workshop is in blackout mode. He doesn’t like that he can’t get to Tony when he’s feeling so terrible that he has to shut himself away. He wants to be there to support him, and he hates it when he’s the one who makes Tony feel like he has to close off the workshop.

“Nothing,” he tells Natasha.

She gets up to come into the kitchen, where she eyes him for a moment and then declares, “Tony finally told you, didn’t he?”

How does she always know?

“How do you always know?”

She smiles enigmatically. “I always know,” she says in that mysterious tone.

Steve glares at her. “Tony told you, didn’t he?”

“Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t.”

“One of these days, you’re going to have to admit that you two are friends.”

“Hmm,” she agrees. “But not today.” She hesitates, watching as Steve starts preparing a ham sandwich. “So Tony told you he loves you and you said?”

“Nothing,” Steve says with a shrug. “JARVIS, do you think it would be a good idea if I took this to Tony?”

“Sir has not expressed an explicit desire to keep you out of the workshop but I believe he would not appreciate you down there at the moment.”

Steve sighs. “Great. Could you send U up here to bring this sandwich down?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

With that taken care of, Steve turns back to Natasha, following her back out to the living room. “I didn’t say anything because Tony didn’t give me the chance. He just took off.”

Natasha is quiet, studying him for a long moment. He knows what she’s thinking, since it’s probably the same thing he thought: that Tony was too afraid to hear the answer to give Steve the chance to respond. Eventually, she asks, “So how do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about Tony like that before but—we act kinda coupley, don’t we?”

Before Natasha can respond, the previously bright sky outside goes dark. There’s a bright lightning bolt right outside the window, followed by the crash of thunder and then a loud rushing sound. It dissipates after a moment, the sky lightening again.

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff,” JARVIS says, “Thor has returned to the tower.”

~

The Steve and Tony story goes something like this: instead of going on his planned road trip, Steve returned to the tower the day after the Chitauri invasion to offer his apologies to Tony about what he said on the helicarrier. Somehow—and he’s not sure how, even to this day—he found himself getting wrapped up in the tower repairs with a room of his own on one of the lower floors. And by the time those were done, Tony had apparently also redone some of the apartments near the penthouse as a headquarters for the Avengers. Steve hadn’t been lacking for options after the battle (the Army, in particular, wanted him back) but he’d moved into the tower permanently instead.

He and Tony had clashed a few times in those early days but once Bruce came back from wrapping up his affairs in India and Natasha and Clint left SHIELD to join them, they settled into a bit of a truce.

And over the semi-regular movie nights and the training spars and the late-night conversations after they both couldn’t sleep, that truce became a friendship and before Steve quite realized it, Tony had become one of his best friends. Slowly, Steve found himself being pulled out of the shell he’d withdrawn into after waking in this new century. Tony dragged him to lunch at new and exciting places, places that Steve could never have even dreamed of when he was growing up. They planned missions and training days together. Steve had even gotten adept enough at handling the press with Tony to feel confident accepting interview requests with him.

He hadn’t realized though that Tony had taken it as something more serious though. And now that he does know, he’s not sure what to do about it.

~

He eventually goes to Bruce, since Pepper is busy dealing with a business merger and Colonel Rhodes is out of town in some undisclosed location (though Steve is certain that Tony knows where). Bruce’s lab isn’t quite the wonderland of light and holograms that Tony’s is, but it’s still impressive to someone who grew up with nothing. Tony makes sure that Bruce has all the latest equipment so the lab is a gleaming marvel of sleek instruments with silver and white colors everywhere. It doesn’t look like the most soothing environment but the speakers pipe out some sort of piano music that Steve vaguely recognizes and there’s a teapot on one counter, keeping whatever Bruce is drinking warm.

Bruce is currently examining something under a microscope. Steve can make out what looks like a purple smear on the slide from where he’s standing in the doorway, but that’s it. Bruce doesn’t seem to have noticed him yet, even though JARVIS announced him, so he waits patiently until Bruce has rolled away from the microscope.

“Bruce, you got a second?” he asks quietly.

“Hey, when did you get here?” Bruce asks, offering him a tired smile. He waves Steve over to the teapot and offers him a cup.

“Just a couple minutes ago. I didn’t mind waiting,” Steve assures him. “What’s the blend?”

“Lavender and chocolate.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind a cup.” Bruce hands him the steaming mug. Steve has to add the sugar himself (only Tony knows how he prefers his tea).

“What brings you to my lab? Tony’s downstairs today,” Bruce says, fixing a cup of his own.

“I’m not looking for Tony. Not yet anyway,” Steve corrects. “I did want to talk about him though.” He hesitates and then decides to take the plunge. “Has Tony ever said anything to you about—ah—”

“About his feelings?” Bruce asks knowledgeably. “It’s come up a few times.”

Steve takes that to mean that it’s come up fairly frequently. Tony does like to overshare sometimes and trying to figure out what he’ll overshare about and what he’ll clam up about is about as accurate as trying to make one of Clint’s trick shots. “He told me today,” he begins carefully. “But he didn’t let me say anything.”

“Well, he wouldn’t,” Bruce says, like that’s perfectly reasonable and not absolutely surprising to Steve. He must see the confusion in Steve’s face because he adds, “He only just figured it out a few days ago himself, even though he’s been talking about you for months. I don’t think he was expecting you to feel the same way as him right after he realized it.”

“But why would he say it then?”

Bruce takes off his glasses, holding them in front of him as he thinks. “Tony—he’s got a weird relationship with love. He told me once that he thought he’d lost the chance to tell Pepper he loved her, first in Afghanistan and then with the palladium poisoning.”

“His parents,” Steve realizes. “He didn’t get to tell them either.”

“Exactly,” Bruce says, pointing at him with the glasses. “He doesn’t like to wait. So even though he knows you don’t feel the same way, he felt it was important to tell you.”

“What, in case I die tomorrow?”

“Or if he does.” Bruce must catch the stricken expression on Steve’s face as he smiles gently. “It’s not just about getting the feeling off his chest for Tony. It’s about making sure that you know you’re loved too.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly.

~

Normally, he would go down to the workshop to think about something that’s puzzling him but he doesn’t want to bother Tony right now. Instead, he goes to his second-favorite room in the entire tower: the library. The library was designed specifically by Tony for Steve after he mentioned how much he liked the tablet Tony had given him but how he missed paper books too. He hadn’t been angling for a library out of the conversation but Tony, generous to a fault, had immediately gotten to work on one.

It’s a beautiful room, completely incongruous with the sleek modern style of the rest of the tower, but perfect despite that. It takes up an entire two floors of the tower with balconies, a spiral staircase, and several sliding ladders for Clint to reenact a scene from some movie that Steve hasn’t gotten around to watching yet. Tony had done the room in dark wood with enough windows to make it feel light and airy instead of cramped. There are little nooks hidden among the shelves and a few window seats for anyone who wants to gaze out over the New York skyline while they read.

It’s perfect, made all the more so because Tony designed it for him.

“Steve, you should have realized how Tony felt sooner,” he mutters to himself as he settles on one of the cushy armchairs with his sketchbook. But how could he have? According to Bruce, Tony hadn’t even known how he felt until a few days ago.

He sketches as he thinks, no subject in mind until he looks down to find that he’s roughly sketched out Tony at his workbench, arguing with DUM-E over something silly. Steve smiles fondly down at the drawing, rubbing his thumb over the curve of Tony’s cheek. He remembers this argument. It had been a couple weeks ago. Tony had asked DUM-E to bring him a wrench and instead, DUM-E had brought him two screwdrivers, three hammers, and a level before finally bringing the wrench. It had made Steve laugh, which had just encouraged DUM-E. Tony had acted frustrated but he knows Tony well enough to know that Tony had been secretly proud about DUM-E’s personality, both for DUM-E and for himself. After all, as Tony said, any monkey could design an AI. It took skill to design one with character.

In his sketch, he’s drawn something of that conflict in Tony’s face—the frustration in the downward turn of his mouth but the pride in the twinkle in his eyes—and it only makes him more beautiful.

“Beautiful,” Steve repeats, awed at the thought. Tony is beautiful, when he’s tinkering, when he’s flying, even when he’s going toe-to-toe with Steve over something stupid (usually Tony’s self-sacrificial tendencies).

He flips through the book, taking in each drawing: Natasha, Tony, Clint, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Tony, Tony, Tony. “Yeah,” he murmurs, looking back down at the drawing he just finished again. He thinks he’s got it figured out.

He stands, tucking his sketchbook under his arm. “JARVIS, do you think Tony would mind talking to me now? I’ve got something important to tell him.”

JARVIS is quiet for a moment, then says, “Sir would be happy to see you.”

He makes his way downstairs, thinking about what he’s going to say, but as soon as he sees Tony—wonderful, beautiful, perfect Tony—playing with one of those incredible holograms he designed, the words fly from his mind and he blurts out, “I’m not in love with you.”

And then he winces. Yeah, okay, so he’s a bit of a disaster.

Tony looks hurt for a moment, but it’s quickly covered up with dramatic offense. Before Tony can make one of his infamous quips that’ll just make light of the situation, Steve crosses the workshop and pulls Tony’s hands into his, rubbing them gently with his thumbs.

“I’m not in love with you,” he repeats. “But I think I could be soon. I’m not where you’re at yet—my brain isn’t nearly as quick as yours, Tony, of course you’re a step ahead of me here too. But Tony, you’re on almost every single page of my sketchbook. We go on what we might as well call dates together. We talk for hours. I know you almost as well as I know myself. I’m not in love with you yet but I think I’m only a couple dates away from it, so you should take me out, and we’ll see how fast I can catch up.”

Tony is smiling by the end of his little speech. “How are you always so good at that?” he asks.

“I was born like this,” Steve says seriously, only to crack a grin when Tony laughs.

“No you weren’t,” Tony argues. “You were born small and spiteful.”

“And full of good speeches. But no one wanted to listen to a little guy like me so I had to bottle them up to use on you.” He pauses and looks down at Tony. “Um, not to pressure you, but does a date sound good?”

Tony thinks about it for a moment. “Depends. Where are you going to take me?”

“Oh, am I taking you? You’re the billionaire, shouldn’t you be treating me?”

Tony’s eyes darken as he purrs, “Only if you’re very nice.”

Steve shivers. He hadn’t really thought about how it would feel to have the full Tony Stark Seduction TechniqueTM turned on him, but he’s thinking about it now and it is absolutely delightful. “What if I’m not nice at all?” he whispers, hands tightening on Tony’s.

Tony’s smile turns downright filthy and he leans up to brush a kiss over Steve’s cheek. “Hmm, I’ll think of something,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear.

He’s not going to act like a caveman and take Tony to bed. He’s not. He’s going to—“Sal’s!” he blurts out, immediately regretting it when Tony takes a step away, brow wrinkling confusedly. It’s really cute. Steve wants to kiss it away.

“What?”

“Sal’s,” Steve says again. “Best burgers in Brooklyn. I want to take you there.”

Tony smiles again. “Sounds like a date.”

[thiskingdomwillendure]

Body & Soul

A/N: Uhhh, hi!! I've been writing since I was little, but I've never done something quite like this before, nor have I ever posted anything like this online.

Anyway! This is an Orochimaru x transmasc-nonbinary!Reader fic for @crybaby-writings, based on their post here . I hope this is okay, and I'm sorry it took me so long to post it!! Please note that Orochimaru is non-binary, so they/them pronouns are used. ****TW: descriptions of gender dysphoria, self-mutilation (maybe?), chest binding, binding too much, panic attack, allusions to human experimentation.... I think that's it, but please let me know if I need to add more!****** ~ Body & Soul, 1290 words You had been standing in front of the mirror for nearly an hour already. A deep frown was etched across your face as you stared at your body, more than displeased by what you saw.

Nothing matched. Everything was wrong. A wave of heat crashed over you. No, no, no, no, no. Your breathing came in gasps. Wrong, everything was wrong, you were wrong, your life was wrong. I can’t breathe. No, no, no, no, no, no – I can’t breathe – Your vision was tunneling; the black at the edges was creeping closer and closer to the center – you were dizzy, and hot and cold at the same time – you wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go, and you were rooted to the spot anyway. With a choked sob, you crashed to your knees on the floor. I am going to pass out. Or die. Your breathing was faster and much harder than necessary. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and wrapped the towel tighter around yourself. Your pulse was increasing rapidly – you were choking now –

Something cool moved under your hands. Your e/c eyes snapped open and you were face to face with a white snake, whose tongue was flicking over the tears that stained your face.

“Hi,” you croaked.

The snake blinked.

You cleared your throat. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

The snake reared and looked at you as if to say, you’re kidding, right?

You sighed and stroked the snake, who had draped themselves over your abdomen. “Did they send you?”

The snake hissed and nudged your chin with its head.

“Figures. They always know.” Your small smile was fond as you thought of your spouse. “Where are they?”

The snake merely stared at you.

“Lab. Right. Where else would they be?” You got up off the floor and patted the snake’s head as its lower body slid off you. “Thanks again.”

The snake blinked and slithered away.

You got dressed, opting to wear one of your spouse’s shirts (it nearly reached your knees, but you didn’t much care at this point) and an old, holey pair of pants. Comfort was what you were seeking, and you’d be damned if anyone bothered you about it.

As you walked through the long corridors of the hideout, you wondered what your spouse was working on now. They hadn’t spent much time with you over the past few weeks; you knew that they were training the Uchiha boy, but you hadn’t expected that the training would take up all of their time. The Uchiha had arrived about a year ago. His attitude made you want to slap the taste out of his mouth. However, you refrained from getting involved. You knew full well why your spouse had marked the boy, and you weren’t about to get in their way – especially since the Uchiha would ensure that you would have them with you for years to come.

You walked into the lab silently. Kabuto was looking into a microscope. Your spouse was leaning over a faceless corpse with their back to you. Neither of them looked up, but you knew that your spouse sensed your presence when their shoulders seemed to relax.

“Hello, dear.” Their voice soothed your nerves.

“Hi….” You came up behind them and rested your cheek on their back.

Their shoulders stiffened momentarily – they were working, after all – but they relaxed again a few seconds later. “What is troubling you?”

“Just….” You weren’t sure what to say. My dysphoria is so bad that I want to cut the fat bags off my chest myself. I can’t stand my hips and want to cut those off, too. While I’m at it, I’d also like to go ahead and hack off the roundness of my jaw to make it more masculine. You closed your eyes and gripped their shirt tightly.

“Kabuto, get out.” Orochimaru’s tone left no room for argument.

“Yes, Orochimaru-sama.” You heard Kabuto’s footsteps, heard the door open and close, and then there was silence.

Orochimaru backed away from the slab, prompting you to let go and move away. They disposed of their gloves, washed their hands, and then finally turned to face you.

You smiled a little. “Hi.”

“Come here.”

You walked over and immediately wrapped your arms around them, settling your head against their chest. You could hear their heartbeat, and it stopped the anxiety that was building again in its tracks.

Their arms came around you. “What is troubling you, my dear?”

“The usual,” you muttered. “It’s just… really bad today. For some reason. I don’t know why. I saw my reflection when I got out of the shower and I just….” Your voice stopped working.

Orochimaru gently tilted your head up. Your eyes met, gold against y/e/c, and they placed a cool hand against your cheek. “Growing it out?” they asked softly, referring to the y/h/c hair that was lining your jaws and upper lip.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s about the only thing that helps right now.”

Their thumb stroked your cheek. “Ribs aching?”

“Yes.” Your tone was bitter. “I’ll have to stop binding completely soon, I think.” You closed your eyes. “That’s going to be awful.”

Orochimaru was quiet. Their other hand came up and was lightly tracing your ribs. When you flinched, they settled their hand on your hip and brushed their lips across your forehead. “I… am sorry that I haven’t spent much time with you lately.”

“It’s all right, I know you’re busy.” You frowned and looked up at them. They weren’t the type to offer apologies. “Orochi—”

“I have been working on something for you.” They were watching your expression carefully. “Your dysphoria has been getting worse and worse. I cannot stand by and watch you suffer any longer.”

You blinked. “Okay…?”

“When you married me, y/n….” They had a faraway look in their eyes. “I—”

“—Orochi, you don’t have to say—”

“Hush,” they said, placing a finger to your lips.

You fell silent.

“I cannot… will not… sit and watch as my spouse is destroyed by a body that does not match their soul.” Their left hand took yours, their thumb brushing over the simple band on your fourth finger. “It is my job to care for you.”

“You do,” you blurted but they arched an eyebrow and you immediately closed your mouth again.

“You are not hearing me,” Orochimaru said quietly. “I can help you. I have been working day and night in order to do so.”

You stared at them for a moment and then your gaze cut to the faceless body on the table. Not only was their no face…but there were no features at all. No hair, no marks – nothing. The body was essentially a blank canvass….

Your mind raced and put two and two together very quickly.

“That’s my body,” you whispered.

“Yes.” Orochimaru’s hand tightened around yours. “It is yours, should you want it.”

You had so many questions, but you trusted your spouse – mind, body, and soul, you trusted them and loved them – and so you looked up at them, stood on your toes, and kissed them soundly. When you parted for air, Orochimaru’s forehead was leaning against yours, his hands at your waist.

“Would you like to proceed?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered.

The corners of their mouth tilted up into a small smile.

“I love you,” you told them.

“Oh, my dear. If only you knew.” They kissed your forehead and then slid out of your arms and went to the door.

“I think I do know,” you said as you watched them.

They flashed you a toothy grin over their shoulder and then wrenched the door open. “Kabuto!” they snapped. “Get the equipment… it’s time.” ~ I 100% believe that Orochimaru would only show their soft side with their significant other (and even then, it would take a lot of time and patience to get to that point).

A/N: So uhhh... yeah. That's that. Uh, if you want more let me know? I guess I'll take requests? Idk wtf I'm doing honestly please be kind haha

[the-bau-quinjet]

Memories, Pt. III

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks, torture

Word Count: 1968

a/n: Part 3!! Honestly, I feel like this series could've been a one shot, but I wasn't feeling inspired to write the whole thing at once and I knew I would finish it if I posted part of it because I would stress about people wanting the next part 🙃

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

3 Years Ago

Bucky could only be described as a ball of nerves when you walked into the room. It felt like his brain shut off.

He had spent the last thirty minutes practicing what he was going to say to you when you arrived for your weekly movie night. Basically, it boiled down to six simple words: I'm falling in love with you.

Despite Steve, and a slightly out of character Sam, ensuring him that you felt the same, he was still skeptical. Why would you choose him when you could get any guy, or girl for that matter?

As he nervously stared at you, he could see your lips moving, but no sound could be registered above his own internal panic.

He didn't fully comprehend you had even said anything until he registered the panic on your face. Suddenly, his own thoughts disappeared.

"Oh no. No, no, no. I'm so sorry. You obviously don't feel the same. I'm just gonna go! I'll, uh, I'll see you later." You tried running out of the room, but Bucky was too quick.

"Huh? I don't feel what?" He was completely stunned that he had gotten so worked up in his own nerves that he missed what you said. He was supposed to be trained in observing people. He should be able to multitask, especially when one task is completely within his own mind.

"Bucky, really it's okay. I'll be fine. We'll be fine! I just, I need a minute... or a few to-"

"Y/N, doll, I'm so sorry." He sputtered as tears pooled in your eyes. What the hell did he miss? "I didn't hear a word you said."

"You... what? Why not?" The tears continued to pool as you did your best to hold them back for when you were alone in your room.

Bucky took a deep breath before he began talking faster than you'd ever heard him speak before.

"I'm falling in love with you." You honestly stopped breathing for a minute. "I was trying to think of how to tell you. That's why I didn't hear you. Steve convinced me that I should tell you. Sam a little bit too honestly. They kept saying it wasn't healthy to keep it all bottled up. And, I mean, I just-"

You cut him off, pressing your lips to his eagerly. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, soft smiles growing into wholeheartedly happy grins.

"You're an idiot." You chuckled, pressing your forehead to his. "That's what I said when you so graciously ignored me."

"I- You what?" Bucky's jaw dropped.

"I'm falling in love with you too."

-

Present

Waking up in Bucky's arms felt right. There was no other way to put it. His presence had a soothing effect unparalleled by anything you had ever felt before.

His face was relaxed, a slight smile pulling on his lips. You brushed his hair out of his face, slowly rubbing your thumb along his cheek and down his jaw.

A familiar ball of guilt grew in your stomach as you cuddled closer to his body. It may have only been two days since you woke up, but this group of heroes quickly found a place in your heart, almost like they'd been there all along. Lying to them about your past was gnawing on your heart, slowly breaking down your resolve.

You carefully removed yourself from his embrace, softly closing the door to your bedroom as you left. You knew he would want to talk about last night, and you just weren't ready for that. Not yet.

You wandered the halls until, three dead ends later, you eventually made it to the kitchen. Much to your relief, the common area was empty. You had just enough time to calm your internal panic about what food you could eat when Natasha walked in.

"I'm about to make a smoothie, want one?" She offered, much to your delight.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thank you." The level of sincerity of your words caught her mildly off guard, not that you or anyone would have been able to tell.

"So, how are you feeling?" She questioned lightly, hiding her skepticism at your odd behavior. Call her a pessimist, but 3 months with Hydra and you're relatively fine? It doesn't quite add up.

"Oh, um, okay I guess. I feel like my brain is all jumbled." You settled for half truths again, knowing she would easily spot a total lie.

"Right, well that's to be expected after a few months with Hydra. You said they kept you in that room the whole time?" She kept her tone light, trying to empathize with everything you went through.

"Um, yeah... I-" You grabbed your head as memories flashed through your mind. You were in a room, it looked like a lab but it was dark and grimy. People surrounded you, but you couldn't understand what they were saying.

They poked and prodded at you, forcing you to lay down as they strapped you into a metal chair.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" She rushed to you, smoothie forgotten in the blender as you screamed, remembering the pain you felt in that chair. You didn't even realize you were muttering under your breath.

Her voice drew you back to the present. You abruptly stood up, backing into a corner as you glanced around the room.

Slowly, the past two days came back to you. Flashes of memories, old and new mixed together in your head, all out of order.

You were in the Avengers compound.

Your were buried in rubble, people screaming and crying surrounded you.

They thought you were one of them.

You were being arrested, locked in the room where Bucky found you.

They didn't know the truth.

"Y/N?" Nat questioned again, slowly moving toward you.

"I'm fine. I, uh, I'm okay." You took deep breaths, slowly calming all your nerves.

"What happened?" She pulled you out of the corner, leading you back to the island for your smoothie.

"I, um, I was back there." You stuttered, trying to make sense of the image. "But, it was different. A different room." You were too shaken to think about what could happen from sharing this new development.

"A different room? What did it look like?" Nat was eager to hear more. If you didn't remember everything from your three months there, maybe they did something to you, and that's why you've been acting weird.

"It looked, it looked like a basement. It was dark and grimy." You left out the part about the lab equipment. "I, um, I think I'm gonna go on a walk. Just to clear my head a little bit."

You left before she could respond, smoothie untouched on the counter.

-

When you returned from the walk, you could hear Nat talking to Steve and Wanda in the kitchen.

"I'm telling you, they must have done something to her. She's not acting right." Nat was firm, steadfast in her belief that Hydra wouldn't have kept you there without trying something.

You're heart rate spiked at her words, nervousness overcoming your body. They were going to figure it out.

"Nat, she just came back from three months of torture. Of course she's gonna act a bit different. She needs time to adjust back to her regular life." Wanda replied, figuring Nat was just a little too paranoid.

"You didn't see her in the kitchen! Wan, she freaked out. She looked terrified. She was muttering something about experiments. What if they messed with her head?" Nat rebuked, still trying to convince them.

"I mean, I guess it's possible?" Steve stated, clearly unconvinced but open to the idea. "She hasn't been acting that off though, not when you take into account what Wanda said."

"Steve, she hasn't told Bucky she loves him. That would've been the first thing out of her mouth if she was herself." Nat settled him with a glare, knowing her point was made.

You panicked. If they figured out you weren't who they thought you were, what would they do to you? Before you registered your own movements, you were running.

You made a break for the elevator, twisting and turning through the halls in what you hoped was the right direction.

Just as you turned the last corner, you ran right into something- no someone.

"Where's the fi-" Tony started to joke, but after taking in your expression stopped mid-sentence. "Whoa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!" You replied far too quickly, trying to squeeze past him.

"Y/N, wait." He grabbed your arm, preventing you from getting away. "Talk to me, kid. What's going on up there?" He gestured to your head.

"Really, it's nothing." You wiped a tear from your face, knowing it wasn't helping your case. "I have to go."

"Nope. I'm not gonna let you bottle this all up. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong. Come on." He pulled you into the elevator, leading you to the lab.

Once he had you sat on the window seat in the back, he asked again. "Tell me what's got you this upset. You know we're all here for you, right?"

You couldn't take it anymore. They were all being so nice, and you were lying right to their faces.

"I'm not who you think I am." You barely whispered the words, overcome with a mixture of guilt and self pity. "I don't belong here." You refused to make eye contact until Tony lifted your head to meet his eye.

"Y/N, you probably belong here more than anyone else, except maybe Steve, but he doesn't count." He tried to lighten the mood, earning an attempt at a small smile from you.

"I really don't. I'm not a hero. I'm a murderer." You cried as you finally admitted the truth. The relief you felt was instantly weighed down by fear at what would happen next.

"What are you talking about?" Tony was clearly confused by your admission. "Y/N, your not a murderer."

"I'm not an Avenger." You moved your hands to cover your face, knowing you weren't strong enough to admit this to his face. "I wasn't in that room for three months, it was three years!" You missed the way his brow furrowed deeper in confusion as you continued to rant. "i don't know why you all think I'm some hero. Nobody was supposed to rescue me. I was in prison. I'm a killer."

You took a shaky breath, as you kept going. "I was in that room because I made a bomb that killed 38 people. I- It was accident, I swear! I didn't mean to hurt anyone... I- I think?" You started questioning yourself as memories flickered through your head.

"It's all fuzzy." You desperately shook your head, trying to make everything clear.

"It wasn't supposed to blow up! It was supposed to absorb energy and convert it into power, but it didn't work." You were nearly sobbing, picturing the people you injured and killed. "It exploded and people died! It was all my fault."

Your breathing quickened again, anxiety at admitting what you had done mixed with the guilt of lying to the only people who have ever shown you kindness causing the panic to set in again.

"Hey, hey! Look at me. You're okay. We're gonna fix this. You're not a killer, Y/N." Tony held your face in his hands, speaking firmly but not without compassion.

"Yes, I am!" You shouted at him, causing him to stumble backwards. "I don't know why you all think I'm someone I'm not, but it's true. I don't-" Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to get the words out.

You managed a mumbled, "I don't belong here." Before you passed out.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman

Memories tagist:

@otherglowcloud @dontxfearxthereaper

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen

[Donatello x fem reader]

Bayverse, sfw.

Was this stupid?

Was this risky?

Would Splinter find out and send him to the Hashi?

These questions ran through Donatello's mind as he booted up the game. An online multiplayer, one that he didn't play often but had recently got more invested in. The most video games he played were usually with Mikey, in the family room, with only him and his brother. Not alone in his lab with his personal computer where he was hidden, doing something Splinter would most likely not approve of. But some part of him that he always kept shoved aside longed for any kind of normalcy among the outsiders, humans—so he booted up the game, and waited to play.

As he customized his character, every so often he would throw a glance over his shoulder toward the entrance to his lab, and every time he heard a noise nearby was on the ready to close out the game in case someone tried to come in. Perhaps not scandalous among anyone else, but he had the feeling that he really should not be interacting with anyone online. The other part of him, though, told him that logistically, it would be fine; he'd never tell anyone anything. No one could get information out of him. What harm would it be to chat once in a while?

Within his first week of playing the game on-and-off, he'd found himself a small group in which he partied up with sometimes. They never talked outside of the in-game chat, whether it were text or voice chat (no one could tell him from a human anyway), but he was fine with that. He had fun talking and playing together all the same, and eventually, that game became one of his new hobbies that he indulged in regularly. Which his brothers noticed.

"I'm down," said Donnie through the mic as his character was struck one too many times. "Anyone available to revive me?"

There was a knock at his lab door. He nearly jumped out of his skin and quickly shut his mic off, exiting out the game before getting out of his chair. He made himself look busy over by his lab equipment as Leo leaned in.

His brother gave him an odd look. "Were you talking to someone?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

On the inside, Donnie's stomach churned. He almost knocked over one of his beakers. "No? No, of course not. Only to myself, if that counts," he answered, steadying his voice. He looked around his work station and grabbed the nearest object. "Stupid titrator. Always trying to break. Guess that's why it was with the junk I found."

He felt exposed under Leo's scrutiny, because his brother in blue had a knack for sensing a lie, just like their master. He gave occasional eye contact as he continued fiddling with the stuff on his desk.

But Leo seemed to believe this lie. Donnie did mutter to himself sometimes; he wouldn't put it past him. "Okay, then," Leo responded on his way out. "Oh, and we got pizza."

"Cool, I'll be right there," Donnie said, turning back to his monitors. He waited until he heard the door shut before he hopped back on the game, telling his party goodbye in the chat before he logged out.

His cursor had been hovering over the exit button when he heard a feminine voice. "When will you be on again?" she asked. "I'd be down to partner up!"

He stared at the screen momentarily. The person speaking had not used the voice chat before, only the text. What he knew so far was that she was about his age, but not much else. But he was a little excited, more than usual, actually, to have caught the eye of someone in particular. He wouldn't admit to feeling like a kind of outsider among his small group of online acquaintances, but he was finally starting to feel like he belonged, with this.

Slightly nervous, he hurried to type in the chat: I might be online tomorrow.

He couldn't give her a definite answer. His life was a spontaneous one, and sometimes he disliked the unpredictability of it. He typed again: I'm usually on late afternoon. When his brothers were asleep.

"Alright, cool. See you later, Bo."

"Bo", he repeated inwardly, snorting. A dumb username and reference to his weapon of choice, but he wasn't about to reveal his actual name. He exited out of the game. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was beginning to push it with this. What if he got caught? Mikey could bust in any second. His master could catch on to his absences and start questioning what was really going on. Any number of things, but when he heard that girl's voice, he knew he'd be coming back at some point.

"Bro, what are you doing in there? Mikey's going to eat all of this if you don't get in here quick!" called Raphael from the living room.

Donnie left and joined his brothers, Leo commenting with a chuckle, "So he finally leaves his hole."

Mikey held up a slice of his pizza, pepperoni. "The party's in here, dude!"

Grabbing the last two slices of pizza, Donnie sat down. "I was just working on something," he lied through his teeth, "a personal project."

"A personal project?" Leo asked curiously.

"Don't get him started on that, he'll never shut up about it and forget to eat," Raph interjected, then took a huge bite of his food.

Donnie's brows furrowed and he put down his pizza, ready to bicker with Raph about it, but he stopped himself. He feigned casualness, "Doesn't matter anyway, it's busted. Just some useless stuff I found a while back." He picked on his pizza while the rest finished up their dinner. His mind was elsewhere, too distracted to eat much and made a bit anxious by his recent escapades in the online world. He knew what he was doing, took every precaution possible, but the inherent nature of keeping secrets from his family made him downright uncomfortable. It was just too weird to keep things from his brothers.

Once everyone was done, they all geared up for patrol. They quickly went topside and freestyled their route, this night. The city was quiet in the sense that there were no glaringly obvious criminal activities. But cars still honked, people still played music, and the other clamor of the city was still going strong. He loosened up and forgot about the girl once he was out there, running and climbing with his brothers. This was the "normal" he could always come back to.

Chapter 2

[darlingpetao3]

Thank You For Ruining My Life: An Homage to Tom Cavanagh

“You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.”

The costume-clad woman had the courage of steel to say this to the then 53-year-old actor, Tom Cavanagh of The Flash, in front of a ballroom filled with a couple hundred people. This brave utterance was spoken during the 2016 Fan Expo Vancouver convention during a Flash question and answer period with actors Tom Cavanagh and Candice Patton. In its third season, the show was undoubtedly still hitting its stride in popularity, and the room was packed to hear these two speak.

The brave woman whose turn it was at the microphone was referring to Tom’s role as Ed Stevens on the NBC 2000 hit, Ed. I had not known of this show previously, but having now heard such a proclamation intrigued me. “You’ve ruined all my future expectations of men.” That was a tempting notion, and as I continued to listen to this disarmingly charming and wittingly funny man steal the stage, Tom intrigued me even more. I’d watched him play three different versions of Harrison Wells on The Flash since the show’s premiere date, yet I hadn’t truly noticed him in a “life-ruining” way before.

Little did I know that Tom Cavanagh would not only eventually ruin my expectations for men as well, but he would change my life in other ways, too.

After the Q&A, I had this urge to buy a S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt from one of the vendors at the convention. In my head, I thought I would purchase something so that I could have an excuse to talk to Mr. Cavanagh at his signing booth. Again, he intrigued me, and I wanted to experience more of his incredibly likeable personality. So, I dragged my friend with me to wait for what was maybe ten minutes in a queue. Shortly, I was paying the assistant for my autograph I would soon acquire. They wrote my name on a sticky note so that Tom would know how to sign a personalized message to me. And then, it was my turn.

His eyes sparkled when he turned his attention to me. I instantly had a feeling this was just the way he was naturally. Oh yeah, and I swear to God I’d never seen eyes that blue in my entire life. It genuinely stunned me.

“Hi!” he greeted me.

“Hi!” I responded, equally as thrilled. Tom admired the T-shirt I had brought and took note of my name on the piece of paper. I remember us joking together about the extremely lax security in and around S.T.A.R. Labs on the show, which prompted his message to me on the heather-grey cotton. He wrote my name, [followed by a heart!] and a very welcoming, ‘Come on by, just walk right in!’

I had official clearance from Harrison Wells himself.

I thanked him very much, leaving with my treasure folded over my arms. My friend and I walked towards the hall’s exit, and I couldn’t shake this feeling inside me. It felt strange—I couldn’t name it for the life of me. It felt like an odd fluttering with a simultaneous yet contradictory slightness of breath. My head was confused and would continue to be so for the rest of that weekend.

As I waited at my gate in the airport on that Sunday evening to head home, all I knew was that the moments at the con featuring Tom were the highlights of the weekend for me.

And that I was going to begin watching more of the other films and television shows he’d been in. What was the show the brave cosplaying woman had said ruined her expectations of men? Oh yeah, Ed.

Maybe I’ll start there…

***

Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad…

In my house, it’s never really Christmastime until Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of the wooden stereo system in the living room. It felt especially festive as it was now Christmas Eve—a month and some change since the con. It was late, possibly ten o’clock. I was lying on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with my trusty laptop, a word document open. I was writing three holiday-song short stories featuring the new muse in my life, Harrison Wells. I wanted to be able to post them the next day, so my fingers were taptaptapping away.

I had written a handful of things before 2017, most of which had been Marvel-related, under my second, ‘rebirth’ pen name online. I was a little fish among all the grand and fabulous writers on Archive of Our Own, and in many ways, I still feel like that little fish. I was only just learning and feeling out the psyche of the Wells characters. Each one is so different. In my rewatch of the previous seasons of The Flash, I’d taken diligent notes, and as I’d later learn with each following rewatch, I would know them all—what they think, how they talk and behave—like the back of my hand. It was fun to suss out these guys, and I found that I was growing to love the act of writing even more.

One month later, in January, I would post all the stories I’d written thus far on Tumblr. I’d just created an account and, who knows? Maybe I’d get a wider range of readers on here, too.

Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

Wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending Fan Expo Vancouver 2017, especially when the big news dropped. Not only would Tom Cavanagh be attending again, but so would Carlos Valdes, Danielle Panabaker, Candice Patton, and the convention-elusive star of the show himself, Grant Gustin.

Before the moderator for the Flash cast’s Q&A panel could utter the final thanks to the actors at the end of the session, I bounded from my seat and sped down to the photo op booth where the cast would be taking “Team Up” photos with fans. ‘Sped down’ has to be the most appropriate couple of words because I indeed felt like a true Speedster dressed head to toe as the small screen’s adaptation of Jesse Quick, the angsty and brilliant daughter to Harrison Wells turned superhero.

After waiting in a queue that felt like ages, I was next to stand with Team Flash. As I took a step forward, all of the actors’ and actresses’ eyes—the people I spend time with every Tuesday evening—were on me. I heard a familiar voice approve of my costume. It was Danielle.

“Tremendous.”

Grant even joked that he thought for a second Violett Beane, the actress who plays Jesse Quick, had shown up to surprise them. “I was like, what’s Violett doing here?” he said.

I stood in the back row, happily sandwiched between Tom and Carlos. I dared to let my hands rest on their backs, and I couldn’t contain my joy. Shortly after, when I received my near-instant physical photograph of the moment, I saw Tom had pointed at me. In my mind, it felt as if in his gesture, he meant, hey, look at this cool person. Haha. I couldn’t be further from it.

I would go on to further be uncool in public as I later found myself virtually shaking and almost hyperventilating in line for a one-on-one photo op with Tom. The guy dressed as Kid Flash behind me gave me a few encouragements of the “it’ll be okay” variety. As my turn finally arrived, the lovely man of the hour greeted me with a bright smile in recognition of my Reverse Flash T-shirt (I had done a quick change before this photo op because I had worn a Flash T-shirt for a photo with Grant).

“Great shirt!”

The internet comes up with many hilarious and fitting words, but none such so than the term “Cavanarms.” One of the said Cavanarms found its way around my shoulder in such a casual way. My hand rested on his back, and I have told anyone who will listen about how soft his sweater was. What was approximately a five-second interaction will stay with me forever. And to this day, I will always regret how I’m standing beside him in the picture—there’s a distinguishable gap between us. I could have been closer—should have been!—but I like to use the fact that I felt as if I’d combust into flames if I were any closer to the man.

Maybe I’d have another chance to combust later again that day because, believe it or not, this fan hadn’t had enough of seeing Mr. Cavanagh in person. And since he was appearing at the con for this day only, there was no way I was going to squander any opportunities. Besides, there was still one final thing left on my convention docket: the autograph. In my mind, going to get his autograph was an excuse to get to talk to him and simply be in his presence for longer than five seconds. Here, take my money. I’m a sucker, and I’m proud of it. I saved all year for this kind of thing, and Fan Expo has always been my ultimate nerdy Treat Yoself Day.

Plus, this year I came equipped with a question for Tom (something for which I may have prepared a little too far in advance).

“Which of your characters would win in a lawyering battle: Ed or Miles?”

Miles was Tom’s latest character from his newly released project Darrow & Darrow, a fellow lawyer as Ed Stevens (remember, the man who ruins women’s expectations of men?), whom he portrayed almost two decades prior. What I loved about Tom when I got to ask him this was that he was silent for a moment following the question. He was genuinely putting thought into my question. As he pondered, Tom continued to autograph the photo of us together taken mere hours ago.

“Ed. He would wipe the floor with that other guy. Like, Miles is great, but Ed has a rapier-sharp mind, you know?”

I wholeheartedly agreed with his answer and felt relieved inside for some reason. We thanked each other (as politely as two Canadians can) before I left him to pay attention to the next lucky soul in line. I made the mistake of casting my eyes downward at the signed photo.

Tom had signed two little hearts over the I’s in my name. He really needed to stop adding hearts to my things, or I was just going to melt to the floor. In fact, I started to make these strange noises as I tried not to completely maul everyone in front of me while exiting. My friend ushered me as fast as physically possible on our way out of the main hall. One man took one look at me and asked, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yep!”

The second I made it out of the herd, I broke out into open space. First came the minor hyperventilating. Then came the squealing followed by laughter. Top it off with various fangirlish comments of, “He’s so beautiful!”, “His eyes are so blue!” and “I love him!” and I was probably quite the sight to see (but at a convention, that’s considered normal!). My friend smiled on as she let me express everything that I had to keep inside until I had the right time to expel my emotions. I was on cloud nine. Ten, if at all possible.

The next day would be the con’s final day, which I would attend alone. My friend needed to catch the ferry in order to prepare for her courses the day after. I did a scan of the convention hall one final time in case there was something I missed purchasing. Afterwards, I sat on the cold hard flooring of the convention centre hallway for a bit of a break. I was wiped out. With my phone in hand, I smiled at the messages from this one Tumblr blogger who had been following my posted adventures at the con. I had seen and replied to many of her comments on my stories I’d written thus far, and I enjoyed her matching enthusiasm for Tom and The Flash in general. I felt her to be a kindred spirit. I had no idea then that I was chatting with one of my future best friends, L.

***

I spotted her.

She was wearing an identical shirt to the one I had on—a light grey T-shirt with a sequinned Spider-Man mask in the corner, which around it read, We met on the Web. A giddy me couldn’t wait for the short escalator ride to end. Her back was to me and facing the baggage claim, so here was my chance to surprise her instead.

I towered over my friend, E, and donned a low, authoritative voice.

“Excuse me, Miss, can you come with me?”

She squealed a greeting to me and I returned it as we hugged for the very first time after two and a half years of online friendship. We would still have about two hours to kill until our mutual Tumblr best friend, L, touched down at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport from across the Pond.

Something I noticed was that E and I carried on talking during our wait like it was second nature, that we hung out like this all the time. Whereas when I met L in person for the first time the year previously, our first meeting was that of quiet, delighted shock, unknowing how to react to one another’s physical presence. It almost felt like a fantasy. The closest thing we’d ever gotten to this was visiting over video chats! I’m not sure what each of these different reactions in these separate meetings meant, but what I do know is that I’ve never had such strong female friendships such as these—so full of uplifting support and love for one another. They are the greatest ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And as a searching L eventually turned the corner to meet us in the Arrivals terminal, I caught sight of her Tom & Grant bandana tied around the handle to her carry-on bag. It was an item she had received in return for helping fund the short film produced in 2018 (I’d bought the ringtone). Seeing the accessory jolted me to remember that the former of the titular short was the reason for this long-awaited get-together holiday in the Windy City in the first place. Tom Cavanagh, unbeknownst to him, had just officially united three online friends, each from a different country, to spend six full days of in-person bonding and a whole lot of fun.

***

I should have been shelving books.

I should have been doing a lot of library-related tasks, but my head was elsewhere. Anywhere other than the small-town public library where I work. Instead, I sat on the carpeted floor of the Junior/Young Adult section with my phone in hand and a dreadful article title staring back at me.

“The Flash: Carlos Valdes and Tom Cavanagh to Exit after 7 Seasons.”

My world felt like it was falling apart.

Tom was leaving? There had been rumours and wonderings spreading around the fandom regarding whether he was leaving the show. With a storyline ending with a monumental sacrifice and a time-travelling man saying his farewells, it all seemed to point to the fact. I should have known… I could have rivalled Supergirl as being the Paragon of Hope after all the optimism I doled out to my followers and friends who would come to me worried Tom would exit the show. I would always give reasons to deny such a thing could happen, claiming that I’d believe when I saw it.

Well, there it was, and I definitely saw it.

One could feel the ripple effect over the internet of the shards of broken and riled-up hearts around the world.

Tom’s exit was on his terms, having not felt challenged by his character’s plotlines, as mentioned in a recent Entertainment Weekly article. As a viewer—and I am a viewer (Mike and Tom Eat Snacks, anyone?), it has been increasingly difficult to look past the missed shots made by story editors and showrunner, so understandably, the actor would want to seek something more exciting and meatier. That said, Tom has always shone on-screen and taken what he’s been given in stride. He turns unearthed material into diamonds and indeed shines on screen. Steals it, even! Tom easily makes the episodes he’s in better, and when he’s missing, you feel the loss. The few episodes of Season 7 without him only give us a tiny hint at how the show will be without him going forward. It much resembles when you might bring out your favourite jigsaw puzzle, only to find that the one piece you need to complete it isn’t there.

***

On a personal note, as I write this, I am roughly 20 followers away from reaching a milestone of 2,000. I have written well over 200 stories for The Flash alone (whether they be short or long, one-shots or chaptered), and goodness knows how many words I’ve generated altogether over the course of these many years with inspiration from the show and my favourite character. I’ve written and co-written novel-length stories, one monumental Wellsian story of which was done alongside L and E (almost solely done through alternating text messaging in the app, Line) that reached over 108,000 words and consisted of 42 chapters. And when I’m not writing for my blog, I’m also working on trying to accomplish my dream of becoming a published author. Just as I thought before I launched my Tumblr blog, I think again now: Might as well give it a shot, right?

***

I have watched virtually everything Tom has been in that I could get my hands on, both physically and electronically. Sure, a few titles are out of my reach and probably lost to the very early 90's forever, but from what I've seen through Tom's filmography is enough to know that he can do anything. He can play the romantic leading man that will make you fall head over heels for him or a deranged killer that will have you genuinely scared of him. That is talent. Tom always brings something new to the table from each role to the next, and (when he's not playing those psycho killers) you can't help but admire his craft.

Not only is his acting stellar, but from what we as fans have gathered on the man, Tom has got to be one of the kindest men in the business. His humour and sheer ridiculousness could get anyone through a tough time (we’ve seen plenty of bloopers and behind-the-scenes videos to prove this!). He has clearly bottled and stored an endless supply of Fountain of Youth™ and each year continues to wow us with his handsomeness. Tom is charming, dedicated, and yes, arguably holds the world record for Bluest Eyes.

In my eyes, Tom Cavanagh gave me the two best friends I could have ever asked for, as well as plenty more lovely friends I’ve continued to make online. (One day, I hope to meet him again so that I can tell him in person how because of him, I’ve met such very important people in my life). Through Tom, I have truly found my passion for writing, and in doing so, segued me to dare to dream of becoming a published novelist. I wholeheartedly believe all of this would not have happened if it weren’t for those first series of events that led me to meet Tom and love and admire him immensely. He is indisputable proof that there are indeed men like him out there. Indeed, he did ruin all of my future expectations of men. He ruined my life in the absolute best way and I am eternally grateful.

I am very much looking forward to what Tom will do next. I think it’s rather needless to say that I will follow him in his career, as he has gained a devoted fan for life. He represents so much to me and so much of it I have gained since meeting him that fateful day, when I thought to myself, Maybe I should buy this T-shirt and get this guy to sign it. Wherever Tom goes in life, I’ll be here to cheer him on.

I have a pretty good feeling plenty of others will, too.

[unholyhelbig]

Can you do something fluffy for Bechloe?

Read on AO3 here 

A/N: Me? Fluff? Are you sure... Did you ask the right person to do this? 

The test tube shattered before anyone could catch it. Not like their reflexes were perfect, or even adequate, but they were sharp enough to notice when the sample got too close to the edge of the counter- and cunning enough to know when it wasn’t good that glass splayed across the tile floor.

Because the truth of the matter was, they didn’t know what it was. It had been labeled by a resident the week before after a woman was wheeled into the ICU and died two days later after her symptoms reached a peak and she coded. And now… well now her blood was among the shards and the metallic scent that filled the air slowly bubbled in the room.

Beca had just taken a mouthful of sandwich and bit down hard on the mix of deli meat and mustard. She chewed slowly, meeting the eyes of the only other woman in the lab; a pediatrician from a few floors down that had been searching for a tiger topped tube.

She swallowed the bit of food on her tongue “Uh oh,”

“You shouldn’t say uh oh in medicine.” The woman glanced down at the sample that splattered the edges of her shoes. “What exactly was in that?”

The woman set down her lunch and stood from her seat before walking to the door and closing it. There was a contamination button right next to the side, and it would seal the base of the door and alert the security department to the fact that there may have been a possible quarantine situation in progress.

She pressed it and turned to face her counterpart. She had seen her in the hallways before, in passing and always found her captivating in a collective type of way. She was good with children, had to be, and had such striking eyes that were pooled with worry at this point. Beca crossed her arms over her chest.

“A blood sample from the woman they brought into the ICU a few days ago, it’s the only thing left of her.”

“Oh… the one that they couldn’t figure out in time?”

“The one that we still can’t figure out.”

Beca crossed the room and shoved the rest of her lunch into the little trashcan next to the lab table she most definitely wasn’t supposed to be eating at. Doctor Chloe Beale watched her all the while, paying most attention to the heavy sound of a deadbolt and the way the blood crept towards the drain.

She never had much trouble eating in the morgue before, and she certainly didn’t’ expect a fiery-haired peds physician to come down here rooting through the rest of the medical supplies that they shouldered off on the less desirable rooms in this place. Overcrowded, understaffed.

It was easy to stay among the dead; the rows of silver drawers and quiet tick of the sink that was broken in the corner. But now they had blood, exposed blood that she was supposed to examine for particulates because no one could figure out what had killed this woman.

“What does that mean for us?” She lifted her eyebrows, taking a tentative step from the slathered rustic color.

“Quarantine,” Beca said.

“Quarantine? I… I have to split an arm, and draw a blood sample from a two-year-old with gastrointestinal discomfort, she can’t even keep Pedialyte down and her parents are not patient.”

“A tiger on a two-year-old? Yikes. Don’t you have interns for that kind of thing?”

She scoffed and leaned against the metal counter. The wall phone started its rhythmic ring and Beca wasted no time picking it up. The security team had gotten back to them, and a dull buzz of activity started outside.

Beca was told not to touch the blood that had spilled on the floor. She was also told that it wouldn’t’ be too long before the CDC came in and checked their levels with their much fancier machines and important equipment, and quite honestly, they could have taken the sample and given the hospital a full answer before they passed it down to a coroner that had little to no knowledge on disease control.

She hung up the phone with a sigh “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Hit me with both,” Doctor Beale held her hands up in surrender “I’m a big girl.”

“Bad news is, we have to stay in here until they figure out what exactly killed that woman, and if we’re also in danger of dying from said thing…” She sounded out carefully “Good news is, most of the company I have down here don’t talk back, so I have exactly three decks of cards, a stress ball, and a lot of snacks.”

“I’m a mean card shark, I have fantastic hand-eye coordination, and I can’t fathom how you eat down here.”

Beca smiled back and rooted around in the bottom drawer among the rubber bands and the paperclips, and a wrapped snack cake that had been there since before she started. One of the interns had even scrawled the date on the plastic wrapping but she couldn’t’ recall it, not with the pediatrician staring her down like this.

She pulled out the cards and gestured for the woman to pull her stool closer. There was nothing else they could do, not really unless they wanted to pull the body of Mr. Hodges from the bottom right tray and perform the county autopsy that she was putting off until the end of the day.

“It’s not that bad, I just can’t like… look at them or anything. Really the morgue is peaceful and it’s the only place in the hospital that legally has to stay at a cool temperature. So I get great air conditioning.”

“Touché. The peds floor is like a sauna this time of year, which really doesn’t’ help fussy kids. Nothing does unless it’s a popsicle or a toy… or superheroes- you know, air condition probably would be nice.”

She was rambling, flustered by either the scent of blood or being in the basement of the hospital with a strange and small doctor who held a pack of cards between her hands, dainty and steady. Beca found it cute, endearing, really.

“How do you fair at poker?” Beca asked, sparing her.

“Mm, not well. I’ve never played.”

“Cribbage?”

“No,”

“Rummy?”

“Yeah… no”

“Go fish?”

“That’s one I know,” She clapped her hands as if getting an answer right on jeopardy. “Quite good at that one, actually. Card Shark.”

Beca blew air out of her nose and had to stifle a smile. She could see why she chose the profession she did and could see even more why children liked her. Beca tended to not have the best wrap sheet with tiny humans, in fact, some would call her bad at it all together. But she still tried, and happily dealt the two of them even piles of playing cards.

They played for a few minutes, Chloe getting an accurate pile of cards because she was shockingly crushing this game. It took a bit for her to frown and set the fan of cards down on the silver-topped table. She leaned forward, onto her palms, and let out a sigh. There was an overwhelmingly comforting scent of lemon and mint that radiated from her.

“Do you have a will?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Beca frowned “Do you have any seven’s?”

She didn’t’ get an answer, just a hard glare that sent shivers down her spine so she set her own pile down and focused her full attention on the woman in front of her. It wasn’t’ that hard to do, not in the slightest. Not with the way, Chloe’s eyes shined under the lights and the ghost of a constellation moved across her dainty nose and sprawling cheeks.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know I just… Even though this game of Go Fish is rousing, It has me thinking; if I died right now because of whatever is in that blood sample, I wouldn’t want my last memory to be of playing a children’s card game in a creepy basement.” She flushed then, glancing down “With a very beautiful hermit who practically lives in said small basement, but still.”

“No, I get it. Mortality is subjective and when you’re trapped in a room because said chance of survival just got cut in half… it’s not encouraging.” Beca leaned back in her chair and took in her surroundings.

“Right.” She nodded slowly “I work with children, I chose that specialty for a reason. It’s sadder when they die, but it’s rare that they do. Whereas you’re surrounded by it all day and- seriously I don’t know how you eat down here. Or how you’re staying so calm.”

“Doctor Beale,” She laughed, something soft and waning “someone down here opens up a test tube of smallpox or TB every other day down here. I have yet to draw up a will, and frankly… well frankly I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

The phone rang again, this time it was loud enough to startle them both, neither breaking eye contact with one another until that very moment. Beca stood and pointed to the cards “Don’t you dare cheat, Doctor Beale, I have eyes on the back of my head.”

She answered and let out a stale sigh of relief because they were going to be fine, and that was something good. But she had also been right about the CDC and their ungodly speed. This was considerably better than being trapped in the room with the old man who trained her in the first place. She hung up the phone and turned to face the woman who was lifting up the edge of her cards.

“I didn’t do it,” She put both hands in the air once more. “What’d they say?”

“You’re off the hook this time. Whatever killed her has nothing to do with bloodwork, so it’s just blood. Not poison. Which means you get away with cheating this entire time at Go Fish.”

“The whole time? I didn’t cheat the whole time.”

She stood and crossed the room to where Beca was standing. She just noticed that the woman was a bit taller than her, and again that sharp scent of mint and lemon from tea coated her throat. It was better than the blood and the chemicals of the lab.

“I’ll uh, I’ll try to be down here the next time someone opens up a vile of consumption. We can have a rematch.”

“That would be nice, I’ll keep an eye on you, though. You’ve got sticky fingers.”

Doctor Beale smiled and grasped the tiger tube that she had come in to get in the first place. She slipped it into her pocket and kept her hand there before taking a small step back away from the spilled blood and the drain that it dripped into.

“I think you’re beautiful too, by the way,” Beca said as the woman reached for the door.

“What?”

“Earlier…  you said I was beautiful.”

“Huh,” She smiled coyly, lilting her head to the side “Did I?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m very observant. You called me a hermit too, but I’ll let that one slide.”

[random-imagines-blog]

Hysteria {Henry Wu x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2793 Summary: You’re an up and coming scientist hand chosen by Henry Wu to be a part of his team at Jurassic World. But you feel for him in ways more than a boss and a team member should. Warnings: Contains spoilers of Jurassic World; and Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

You had the feeling that something bad was going to happen the whole time that you were working on the top secret project with Dr. Henry Wu. But you wanted to trust it because you trusted him whole-heartedly. The Indominus Rex was really a huge innovation in genetics, and you were honored to be a part of it. Being one of the younger scientists working inside of Jurassic World meant that you were often skipped over, considered to be too youthful to have the experience needed. But Dr. Henry Wu took a chance on you, and you had proved yourself, becoming one of the head scientists on the project. And you were very grateful to him for doing that. Maybe grateful wasn’t the right word. You weren’t an English major, but perhaps the word you were looking for was smitten. That seemed to fit the ticket.

Who wouldn’t be attracted to an older, very intelligent and handsome mentor? You admired his brain as well as that crooked smile that he rarely had in the lab but seemed to give to you a couple of times a month. With his serious demeanor, you couldn’t ask for much more than that. The only thing that you didn’t fully admire was his constant need to put the work in front of lives. Not only those of the other scientists, working you day and night on little sleep to get a project done and not alerting others to what sort of DNA he was extracting. But those of the patrons of the park. He wasn’t in it for the people, the fame, the money. He was in it for the creativity. The mad genius, some of your colleagues would call him behind his back.

But as long as things continued on smoothly, things should be fine. As long as the Indominus Rex remained in it’s area, things would be okay. As long as nothing in the slightest went wrong... things should be okay.

But chaos started to happen. Voices came over the loud speaker that the project you had been working on with Henry, the very dangerous dinosaur that you had created - it was loose.

Henry didn’t want to go. After he had been told that there was a helicopter ready to take you and him off to safety, he stayed standing around, watching the chaos. “Dr. Henry, we really should go,” You said, putting your bag with your few personal belongings and some scientific equipment over your shoulder. It seemed unlikely that you would ever be returning here. All of your work - and it was just going to get killed. You couldn’t bear to watch, though you understood how much of a danger the Indominus Rex could be if out of its confines. Safety first, science second.

“All of this ... exists because of me,” He said, looking at the monitors which would probably be shut down very soon. “And now, it will be gone.”

“But think of what else that you could create out there,” You said, watching as the last of the other scientists left. You would be missing the flight if you stayed much longer. And this was not a place you wanted to be if your creation was still wandering around. “But you’re not going to have a chance to if you don’t get your butt on that chopper!”

He sighed, but he did eventually give you a smile. “Go and save me a seat,” He asked and you nodded, taking his permission to leave. But as you walked through the white halls, then ascended the staircases, you wondered if he was going to pull some sort of stunt. Try to stay behind and save all of his work. The chopper was almost filled, and you jogged towards it, a man extending his hand to help you aboard. You took it and took your seat, noticing that there was only one left. You put your bag on your lap, secured your seatbelt and waited, just hoping, just hoping...

Eventually the door to the roof opened, and Wu came jogging, only a single bag with him. He seemed a little out of breath as he approached the chopper, and this time you were the one that got up and offered your hand, pulling him aboard. He collapsed next to you, wiping a bit of sweat off of his forehead. “Thanks,” He said, and you nodded in response.

-

You continued to work with Dr Wu on many different projects, but most of them concerned dinosaurs. You had different agendas, him wanting to see how far that he could take science, and you having an actual love of the dinosaurs. You grew very invested in each and every one, so the events that happened at Jurassic World had broken your heart. But at least you still had your specimens, your DNA, all of it, in the lab. You practically lived there now, as did Henry. Living off of take out and taking turns sleeping on a small couch took a bit of a toll but you wouldn’t change where you were for the world.

“Did you finish the chinese food?” Henry asked. You looked over to see that he was deep in the only fridge that was for personal use, his rear sticking out beyond the door. You gave a grin at that, took out your cellphone and snapped a picture because the image was just a little too adorable for the otherwise-grumpy scientist. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I did, sorry,” You said, putting your camera into the pocket of your ever-present white coat before he caught a glimpse of it. “Maybe we should go out for dinner tonight. How long has it been since you’ve set foot outside?”

The fact that Henry was silent, and actually had to think about it, made up your mind. “There’s an Italian place just down the street, we could walk? I know I need the exercise.”

“I guess I could use a break,” Henry said, and his stomach gurgled in response making you laugh. “I’ll be ready in .. twenty minutes?”

“Sounds good to me,” You said with a nod, and went to your own personal little cubby where you kept your belongings. Your heart was beating fast as you looked through your clothes to find something a little more special than what you usually threw on to be around the lab. Pushing past all of the white clothing, you spotted a bit of color. The blue dress that you wore to the opening of Jurassic Park years ago, still in it’s dry-cleaning bag. You unzipped it and took a look at the fabric, feeling it between your fingers, wondering if it still fit. Would it even be appropriate for something like this? Would Henry even notice that you were wearing something that wasn’t your usual lab attire?

So many questions went through your mind, and cut through a big chunk of time. Henry would be ready soon. So, as they say in science - fuck it. You pulled your coat off, and put on the dress, only to find that it fit absolutely perfectly, just like it had all of those years ago. You weren’t even sure why you had kept it for so long. You never had reason to dress up anymore - but then along came Henry, and though he wasn’t concerned much about what humans looked like, you wanted to have something just in case there was a chance. This was that chance.

You didn’t have the right footwear to go with it though, so you went with your walking shoes. They were better than your bulky lab boots anyway. A quick brush of the hair, a touch of chapstick, and you met up with him in the hallway. And to your surprise, he had dressed up somewhat as well. And if you didn’t know any better, you might think that he was blushing, just a little. “Are you ready?” He asked, in his usual upfront and business like manner, making you snap out of any hopes that you had. You gave a nod, and together, went out to the restaurant, staying close for warmth against the wind that had picked up in the last few minutes.

The dinner had gone well, and for the first time, he seemed to open up about things other than work. You’ve never heard about his childhood before, but he was giving you little glimpses into it. He had always had an affinity for science, and had originally thought about becoming an actual MD. But a trip to a museum and seeing the pictures of dinosaurs had opened up something in his brain, had started him on that course. You opened up a little about yourself as well, but you had never been as guarded about your life before work as he had been. Your own love of dinosaurs had come when you had heard about Jurassic Park. And you had made it your mission since then to work under the highly esteemed Dr. Henry Wu, and you completed that mission.

“It’s been an honor working with you,” He said, lifting his glass of wine to you.

“The honor is all mine,” You said, lifting your glass.

--

Things didn’t change with your new job. You followed Henry, as you would have to the ends of the Earth since you were completely crazy about him against your better judgment, to work for a private company. Creating dinosaurs for auction. God, it felt so wrong. You thought that every time that you ran tests, or experimented with the DNA. You were creating things that could destroy the world as you know it. Not just an island. Not just a park. But the entire world since you were on the mainland.

And things went wrong. The prototype was apparently sold, but then the dinosaurs began to escape because of a couple of former co-workers, and people around you were dying. Again.

“I think we need to stop, Henry,” You said from the driver’s side of the car that you stole, speeding away from the mansion, probably breaking about fifty laws while peeling out of there. And your heart broke at all of the lives that had been lost because of you and Henry. Because of what you had created. “All that we’re doing is killing people. We’re creating life, and then it’s getting destroyed so it’s barely even life at all.”

Henry remained silent for a couple of minutes, his head against the window, looking out in front of you. You knew you were lucky to have even gotten him out of there. All he wanted to do was run to the basement, where the dinosaurs were, and get the samples. But when you heard the bidding for the prototype, your brain had just completely given up on all of the work. You just couldn’t put yourself, or other people, in that position anymore.

“Pull over,” Henry requested, pulling you out of your thoughts. You still figured you were too close to the mansion to be anywhere near safe, but you moved the car to the shoulder of the road  nonetheless. You kept the key in the ignition but you turned the engine off to save gas. Or electricity, you didn’t even know - you didn’t check what kind of car it was.

“What is it?” You asked, looking over at him. His face was awash with orange light from the streetlight above him. He looked stressed, he looked a bit angry even.

“Without my work, I am nothing. That is something that you could never understand-”

“No, you’re right,” You interrupted. “That is something that I just - can’t understand. And I don’t even want to try. You put work above everything else, including the lives of other people. Including your own life. Like, Henry, do you not understand how lucky we are that we just got out of there? So many people didn’t make it.”

“I realize that-” Henry said, then it was like the enormity of the situation hit him. “They’ll be loose.”

“And it’s going to be a whole different world because of that,” You said with a frown. “And as the creator of these things... we’re probably going to be hunted down and put before the grumpiest jury to ever exist.”

“Fuck,” He said, rubbing his lips, running his hands through his hair. He was jittery, and it wasn’t from coffee. It was from the realization of what he, and you, had done.

“So we really need to get out of here and find somewhere to bunker down for a while,” You sighed. You wished you knew of a place where you could go, but nowhere would be welcoming to you right now. Your only intention was to drive and drive and drive and hope that the police were too busy with dinosaurs to realize that you were in a stolen car. As far away from here as possible.

“Shouldn’t we separate?” Henry asked. “It’s me they’re going to be coming for. You can still get out of this...”

“I’m just as responsible as you are - and I don’t have anyone else, Henry. And - I don’t want to be with anyone else. I’ve gotten quite adjusted to your company,” You admitted.

He looked at you for a long while. You could feel the weight and the intensity of that gaze, and it made you feel uncomfortable. Your fingers tapped against the steering wheel, waiting for him to say something.

“Let’s drive,” He said, and you nodded. It wasn’t what you had wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing. You started the car back up and continued along the road, watching as the sun started to come up on the horizon. People would be waking up and turning on the news soon. And their lives would be changed forever.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” You said, as you came to a stop at a red light. You looked over at Henry again only to find that he was still looking at you. He looked like he wanted to say something, which was an odd expression because he rarely ever took the time to stop and think about what was going to come out of his mouth. “What are you thinking?”

“That it doesn’t matter where we go,” He said, slowly. “I want you there.”

Your heart started to beat again, quickly, though it had just started to slow down to a normal pace. I want you there - those words would be echoing through your mind forever. “I love you.”

You hadn’t even meant to say it but it slipped out. Everything was coming out tonight. Dinosaurs, the disgusting and greedy nature of men to own everything - and the truth.

“You’re young,” Henry said after a moment’s silence. “I am nearly twice your age.”

“Exactly. I’m young, and you still took a chance on taking me on as a part of your team. That means that you saw something in me that a lot of people just refused to look at. But it’s okay if you don’t love me back, Henry, I can live with that. But I guess I couldn’t live without not telling you.”

Henry was not an emotional person. In fact, he was either very concentrated on his work, or he was frustrated from not being consumed by his work. It was one or the other, so you weren’t expecting much to come from him. He had even tried to give you a logical reason not to care about him. But love wasn’t the most logical thing in the world. He knew that from experience. You were in diapers while he was getting his PhD. He had no reason to be feeling things things for you. But yet...

“I love you too.” He said. And he reached out and put his hand on top of yours on the center console, his rough hands - cut up from broken beakers over the years - felt warm against yours. You took a glance over at him, feeling touched that he made even that little move.

The light turned green. You kept looking at Henry, up until there was an angry honk from a car behind you. You laughed and pressed down on the gas pedal, running away from your problems, and going towards the brand new world.

[freudensteins-monster]

You Say “Mad Scientist” Like It’s A Bad Thing

Based on my own tumblr post: 3am thoughts… Has anyone written Jane Foster as a mad scientist, I mean like a villain?

Chaotic neutral Darcy and Jane featuring modern/human SHIELD Agent Bucky.

Available on AO3.

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Memory Suppressing Machine | The Chair (Marvel), Dark, Sort Of, Ambiguous/Open Ending...

In a world full of megalomaniacs, straight up supervillains, and fricking aliens, mad scientists were a dime a dozen. Dr Foster was one such scientist who was quickly moving from mildly irritating to SHIELD’s Most Wanted.

Dr Foster’s gimmick was portals. She first gained international attention when she claimed responsibility (via an untraceable Instagram account, @dr-mthrfckng-foster) for diverting LA’s 405 to a dirt road in rural Australia. Then came a string of impossible robberies – bank vaults and the private collections of the world's richest assholes stripped bare in seconds. Then she created a portal that caused an Indonesian typhoon to bear down on Wall Street, flooding the trading floor. And then she robbed a top secret government black site of some classified technology.

And that’s when Director Nick Fury made finding and stopping Dr Foster SHIELD’s number one priority.

Agent James Barnes had been stuck on suspension for two weeks, with two more to go, and was itching to get back into the field. He had way too much free time on his hands: he’d caught up on his sleep and everything in his Netflix queue. He’d cleaned out his refrigerator, done laundry and enough meal prep to last him until next month. He’d caught up with his family, cleaned his whole goddamn apartment twice, and now he was well and truly bored.

He was out for his fifth run of the week (and it wasn’t even Wednesday) when his work phone rang.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered before answering.

“Barnes.”

“It’s Hill. How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Barnes grunted, rotating his metal shoulder irritably. “You got something for me?”

“Are you up for a recon mission?”

Usually he would have protested. He headed tactical units. He was an elite ‘first through the door’ kind of field agent. Not that he couldn’t be stealthy and patient - he’d been a sniper in the army for christ's sake - but going unnoticed in public was kind of a problem for him these days; he’d have to wear jackets and gloves in the middle of August to hide his prosthetic for starters.

On the other hand, his mother had been calling him every second day to feed him carb-heavy meals in exchange for help around the house, all while dropping not-so-subtle hints that he should start dating again. Requests for more grandchildren couldn’t be far behind.

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

Thirty-five minutes later Agent Barnes was back at his desk at SHIELD HQ perusing through the increasingly large file of one Dr Jane Foster. 

She had been a brilliant student and had earned a PhD in Astrophysics from Culver University by the age of 25. By all accounts she should have been one of the leading researchers in her field, and if doctoral programs handed out superlatives Dr Foster’s would have been “Most Likely To Win a Nobel Prize By 30”. 

Unfortunately for Dr Foster, and the rest of the world, she had been forced from that path by a sexist tenured professor who publicly denounced her theories, and the woman herself, as crazy, discredited her published work, and used his influence to ensure she was denied all of the more lucrative research grants.

When federal agents went to interview him after the 405 incident they found his office looking like a tornado had gone through it and the professor himself was nowhere to be found. A few weeks later he stumbled into a US Embassy in Russia after being found wandering in from the forests outside Vladivostok, half mad and still decrying the evils of allowing women into scientific fields.

He had been placed into witness protection and promptly admitted into a psychiatric facility under his new name, and was being monitored by several undercover agents in case Dr Foster felt like punishing him some more. 

Anyone else who had a part in ruining Dr Foster’s legitimate career was also under surveillance, as was her mother in London, a terrified ex-boyfriend in Boston, and a handful of known associates, though Dr Foster hadn’t been in contact with any of them in years.

SHIELD and other federal agencies had tried the usual methods of tracking down a rogue mad scientist. They tried to find out where her base of operations was, firstly by looking for any properties in her name, but Dr Foster had been a broke student with an impressive amount of debt (until the day she decided to wipe it, and the rest of Culver’s student debt, out). So if she had property it would definitely not be in her legal name and all but impossible to trace back to her. Then they tried to look for drains on the powergrid. However she managed to generate her portals - SHIELD scientists still hadn’t figured that out - it surely had to be using huge amounts of electricity. So far they’d found six grow labs and two server rooms running illegal god-knows-what, but no Dr Foster.

Agent Barnes read the file twice, reviewed all the transcripts of the interviews with her known associates, and came to one very important conclusion: she had an accomplice. 

As smart as Dr Foster was there was nothing in her academic history to suggest that she had a background in computer science that would account for the notable hacks and the untraceable nature of her activities. To add to that several interviewees had made passing remarks about her not having a cell phone for most of her academic career, and how she had zero interest in social media.

Two days later, after getting the okay for a field trip from Hill, Agent Barnes made his way to Culver University to speak to anyone who had even the vaguest recollection of Dr Foster. And that’s how he learnt about the intern.

He’d started by dropping by one of the physics labs where Dr Foster had spent most of her time, and by pure chance met a doctoral candidate who remembered her, and her intern.

“I think her name was Darlene. Glasses. Always on her phone.”

…which led him to the academic advisor who put the two of them together...

“Darcy. Darcy Lewis. She was actually a PoliSci major but left it too late and Dr Foster’s internship was the only one available. She had only been working with her for a few weeks before… before Dr Foster’s funding was revoked and she was asked to leave.”

...who pointed him to one of Darcy’s former professors…

“Average student. Good debater. Often late, and always had a coffee in her hand.”

...who gave him a few names of some former classmates who might remember her…

“Not the worst person to be stuck with on a group assignment. Pulled her weight. Obsessed with her stupid iPod.”

“I swear she lived off pop tarts and coffee. And not Starbucks either. Some stupid hipster chain.”

“Deja Brew. Serious problem. Went through one of those loyalty punch cards every week. Always complained about having to go home for the holidays and resort to big chain coffee shops.”

...which had him driving out to Darcy Lewis’ hometown, located a few hours south of Roanoke, Virginia, stopping first at the local high school to speak to the school principal…

“She’d always been good with computers but wasn’t allowed to use them at home for some reason so she spent a lot of time at the local library using theirs. We had to suspend her once. One of her classmates accused her of accepting payment from other students to hack the school’s records and alter their grades. Their grades were definitely getting altered, but we couldn’t get any concrete proof it was her.”

...who was able to find a photo of 16 year old Darcy in an old yearbook and told him what bar he could find Darcy’s mother in.

“She knows not to come to me if she’s in the shit, because I would call the cops in a heartbeat. Especially after that stunt she pulled before she went off to college…”

“What stunt was that, Ms Bennett?” Agent Barnes asked patiently, hoping he wouldn’t have to enable her alcoholism to get some useful information. 

“I made some mistakes, okay,” she slurred defensively. “I was having an affair with my boss. Don’t know how Darcy knew. She told her stepfather but he didn’t believe her. Then a few weeks later we went out to dinner for my boss’s birthday... all the tv’s in the bar start showing security camera footage of us falling into offices and motel rooms. Took her all of a minute to ruin two marriages and a law firm.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied diplomatically. “Is there anyone she could turn to for help? Her father, perhaps.”

“He died when she was about twelve. They were as thick as thieves,” she recalled with a tinge of bitterness.

“Was there any place that was special to them? Someone she might go to ground?”

She shook her head. “He used to rent this old cabin near the Catskills off a buddy of his every other year. Winter or summer, Darcy loved it. But it's long gone. Forest fire, I think, the year before his accident.”

Back in his car Agent Barnes reviewed the data points.

Dr Foster had a base of operations somewhere. Had to be private, and as best SHIELD could guess it must be off the grid and Dr Foster must be generating her own power.

Dr Foster was a space nut at heart, and while an abandoned observatory might be too much to ask for, she’d probably want somewhere with minimal light pollution.

And while they could portal anywhere, neither of them spoke any other languages and had no familiarity with any international locations, so they were most likely still State-side. (Dr Foster’s mother had moved to London when Jane was twenty-three, but she’d never found the time to visit.)

Miss Lewis was familiar with the Catskills area. A base of operations there could be very isolated.

Dr Foster was most likely building and modifying her own own equipment so she had to be able to access materials. Sure, she could portal to her local hardware store, but having Darcy drive into the nearest town for supplies would attract less attention.

Miss Lewis had an addiction to coffee procured from Deja Brew, a small hipster chain with only a handful of locations along on the east coast. While she could have found another way to get her caffeine fix, people were creatures of habit.

Miss Lewis was also known for stocking up on poptarts. In one of the only images of the other side of one of Dr Foster’s portals there was what appeared to be, if one squinted, a box of limited edition pop tarts on a counter.

He plugged it all into SHIELD fancy search engines and got a few results back. The most promising was an abandoned ski chalet turned abandoned research station halfway up a mountain, an hour drive away from an up and coming tourist town, whose main street hosted a Deja Brew cafe. They also had a small mom and pop hardware store, as well as a post office, and a grocery store that had still been selling pumpkin pie pop tarts around the time Dr Foster’s portal had been caught on camera.

Agent Barnes came to with a groan. The flesh of his shoulder where it met his prosthetic felt like it was on fire, and he was pretty sure he could smell fried wiring.

The research station had come up in SHIELD’s initial search for a potential mad scientist's lair, but had been dismissed for not using any power and for not sending back any heat signature readings. Perhaps they’d found a way to fool the scanners. Or maybe they just weren’t in the day the readings were taken. Whatever the reason, Agent Barnes had a good feeling about it. He filled his tank up at the nearest gas station and got on the highway, forgoing checking in at the Triskelion on his way past in favour of driving all night. He’d call Hill when he had something solid. 

** *** **

“Fuck…”

He willed his eyes open and came face to face with Darth Vader.

Barnes reeled back at the sound of the synthesized voice. “Who sent you? Who do you work for?! The Rebellion?” 

“What the fuck!”

It took him until his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting to realise that Darth Vader was wearing a grey knit dress and black tights. Darth Vader laughed and ripped off his mask to reveal a smiling bespectacled brunette underneath. The accomplice. Darcy Lewis.

“Sorry, I was just messing with you, dude,” she teased, tossing the mask over her shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to do that. But seriously, who do you work for? Who knows you’re here?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he lied. “I was just camping in the woods, man. I saw the lights and decided to check it out,” he rambled in a lazy Canadian accent. “How the hell did I get here? Did you electrocute me?”

He used his not-quite fake panic to test the limits of his restraints. He’d been strapped into some sort of junkstore barber chair, with thick metal shackles locked around his wrists, ankles, and chest. His metal arm could probably make quick work of them but the damn thing was not responding. His panic became a little less fake.

“Just camping, huh?” she echoed back with a raised eyebrow, leaning forward to the point where Barnes couldn’t avoid getting a good look down her top and the 15-carat pink diamond (worth about 40mil and reported stolen in one of Dr Foster’s vault heists two months ago) hanging around her neck. “So that wasn’t you poking around town this morning?” she asked pointedly, drawing his attention to the wall of monitors he hadn’t noticed showing various street cameras around the town. “I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, dude. You got into town bright and early in a beat up looking truck with plates that didn’t exist two weeks ago and started flashing my yearbook photo around. So, who do you work for?”

He levelled his best steely-eyed agent stare at her and switched back to his native pissed-off Brooklynite accent. “I ain’t tellin you shit, sweetheart.”

“C’mon now,” she cooed, taking a seat on his lap. “Who do you work for? FBI? Interpol? SHIELD? Crawford County Library Services? Listen, I was totally going to return Eat Pray Love, but we had to skip town in a hurry and it got lost in the move. I will totally pay to replace it.”

Years of training (and regular poker games with the Black Widow) had taught him to school his features, even if that last one threw him for a loop.

“Nothing? You sure you don’t want to talk to me? Fine,” she whined. “Jane!”

It was only then that Barnes switched his focus from his captor to his surroundings and realised that there was another occupant puttering about on the other side of the large telescope that took pride of place on a hydraulic platform underneath the research station's retractable roof. The infamous Dr Foster.

“Jane!”

“What?” came the irritated reply. 

“Come over here and practise your monologue. Look! You’ve got a captive audience and everything!” she announced, laughing at her own joke. 

“I don’t have time, Darcy,” the disgruntled voice argued. 

“Hey! I spent two days writing up that monologue, the least you can do is spend twenty-five minutes reading it out loud so I can make sure it doesn’t make you sound too much like a cartoon villain.” 

“Twenty-five minutes?! Are you kidding me?” Dr Foster stormed out from behind the telescope to wave a wrench at her assistant. She looked less put together than her ID photo, appearing to be long overdue for both a shower and a nap. “I’m in the middle of something. I’ve almost figured the problem with the mobile portal generator, and… Darcy, why is there a man tied to a chair in my lab?”

“This man?” Darcy snorted, taking Barnes’s chin in her hands and wiggling it about. “This is the intruder. You remember the intruder alert, like fifteen minutes ago? Lots of flashing lights and alarms? Well, I found this guy passed out on the lawn. For most people, hitting my force field would be like getting lightly tased, but this bad boy,” she continued, tapping a fingernail against his dead metal arm, “meant you ended up getting the full 50,000 volts to your heart. Thanks for letting me practice my CPR by the way,” she added with a wink.

“It’s not a force field, Darcy. It’s a glorified invisible pet fence, upsized and modified so it reacts to the electrical impulses in the human body.”

“It keeps people out; I’m calling it a force field.”

This was definitely the weirdest interrogation he had endured by a large margin, Barnes mused as he followed their bickering like a pingpong game.

“Who is he, Darcy?” Jane sighed wearily. “What is he doing here?”

“Fiiiine. Janey, meet Agent James Barnes of SHIELD.”

“What?! SHIELD?!!”Jane screeched. “Why did you bring him here?”

“He found us, Jane. What was I supposed to do?”

“Something other than bringing him inside our secret hideout.”

“I am not killing him and burying him in the woods; I just did my nails.”

Jane scowled, turning the full force of her overtired fury on James. “Why can’t you SHIELD issue jackbooted thugs just leave me alone? Can’t you understand how important my work is? I am challenging the very foundations of modern science - of the laws of the universe! I am on the verge of a breakthrough! And if you or Nick Fury think you can stop me, you’ve got another thing coming!”

Before his mouth could betray him and ask how the hell they knew his boss Darcy spoke up.

“A little off script, but I like the energy, Jane. Very much the mad scientist vibe we’re going for. But next time, try not to make it so personal – we’ve got to hide the target of our frustrations, remember? Instead of saying “SHIELD” say “government”, instead of saying “Nick Fury” say “president”.”

“Right, right,” Jane nodded absently, tapping the side of her head with the wrench she had just been waving around like a weapon.

“Now, go back to work. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay, thanks Darce. Oh, have you seen my soldering iron around?”

“It’s in the locked cabinet because you’re not allowed to use it unsupervised, you know that. Gimme ten minutes, I’ll bring it to you.”

Jane wandered back to her side of the observatory, muttering under her breath, leaving Barnes at Darcy’s mercy.

“She’s not the criminal mastermind here, is she?” he wondered, his eyes roaming over the strange cupcake of a woman in his lap.

“Not exactly,” Darcy admitted. “I mean, it’s not like she set out to be a mad scientist. I kind of rebranded her after that little freeway incident.”

“Rebranded?”

“Yeah. She was in a bad way after New Mexico and then when the first live test of her portal engine went a little sideways I didn’t want dudebros on the internet coming after her, so I changed the narrative. Instead of ‘girl scientist makes mistake, should stick to making sandwiches’ I changed it to ‘Dr Foster, genius astrophysicist, causes chaos, totally on purpose.’”

“And all those robberies?”

“I may have encouraged that. I’m all for sticking it to the one percenters, and Jane needed to fund her experiments somehow,” she added with a shrug.

“So Jane’s the absent-minded professor and you’re the brains behind this operation, huh?”

Darcy laughed and slid out of his lap causing a distracting amount of friction. “I’m really not. So you, Coulson, and Fury should be really, really scared.”

“How do you know those names?” he had to know, cover be damned.

“You don’t know? Of course you don’t,” she huffed. “Fury and his clearance levels. I’d tell you to ask him about New Mexico sometime, but you’re not going to be able to.”

“Why not? What are you going to do to me?” Barnes fretted, unable to ignore the sinking feeling that he was in big trouble; she wouldn’t have told him anything if she intended on letting him walk out of here.

“Oh, relax. I’m not going to kill you. I’m just gonna scramble your brain a little.”

She circled his chair, flipping switches as she went, and something behind him started humming ominously.

“So, admittedly I didn’t major in hard sciences. I had an ex who did, but he also fancied himself something of a cat burglar, so when he went to jail I liberated all his college textbooks and gave myself a crash course in electrical engineering. And it helped that those HYDRA designs were really easy to follow.”

“HYDRA?” Barnes cursed.

HYDRA had been the scientific branch of the Nazi regime and believed that discovery required (human) experimentation. They were supposedly eradicated at the end of WWII but Project Paperclip saved some of HYDRA’s greatest minds, giving them immunity in exchange for their genius. If Foster or, more worryingly, Darcy had aligned themselves with some surviving HYDRA faction the results could be catastrophic.

“Yeah, I found them in that SHIELD warehouse when we recovered Jane’s stolen research.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They just call it ‘The Chair’, which is totally not creepy at all,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And this is the Halo,” she added, drawing Barnes’s attention to the whirring circle of metal that was lowering itself over his head.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, renewing his efforts to break free of his restraints. “Get that piece of scrap metal the fuck away from me!”

“Hey! Don’t mock my work. It may look like I raided a junkyard for the components - and I did - but my welding game is on point. It’s totally safe. Mostly safe. It’s just going to send focused electrical pulses to your…” she paused to consult some smudged writing on her hand, “hippocampus and prefrontal cortex.”

The Halo stopped moving and two metal plates extended, pressing against the sides of his head, holding it like a vice.

“Please… don’t do this,” he begged as she approached him with a rubber mouthguard.

“C’mon, open wide. You don’t want to end up braindead and unable to chew your food,” she jested, waving the thing in front of him. “Oh, just one question before I fry your brain,” she added just when he was about to give in. “How did you find us? I was so careful,” she whined.

Agent Barnes, terrified as he was, still managed to look smug at his small, short lived success. “Deja Brew coffee.”

“Curses!” she wailed theatrically. “Betrayed by my one true love!” 

Darcy huffed and quickly returned her attention to the matter at hand. 

“Thanks for that,” she said with a smile as she forced him to bite down on the mouthguard. “I’ll know better for next time. Start making my own coffee at home… but it never tastes as good,” she muttered to herself.

She stepped away from him and bent down to pick up a similarly frankensteined industrial remote with long wires snaking back to the chair and a clichéd big red button at its centre. He began struggling anew, screaming around the foul tasting rubber, begging for mercy.

She took great delight in his terrified expression and put on her best supervillain voice, “Give my regards to Nick Fury.”

Nick Fury observed his agent from behind a two way mirror as he sat behind a table in an interrogation room. Barnes had been sitting there for the past hour as still as a statue, except for his unfocused eyes which flitted about the room. 

In true horror movie fashion, Agent Barnes’ screams echoed down the mountainside like an avalanche, sending animals fleeing in terror for miles around.

** *** **

Local LEO’s had found him wandering aimlessly down a stretch of highway just outside the ruins of what had previously been Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, and ten minutes after they ran his prints Agent Romanoff had been on a quinjet to collect him. She’d been directed to the nearest hospital and found him sitting up on a bed but not responding or reacting to any of the medical staff as they buzzed around him. Agent Romanoff took a cautious step forward and held her breath as his unfocused eyes settled on her. 

“Hello James...”

An excruciating minute later the veil lifted and he attempted a smile. 

“Hey Tasha.”

She’d brought him back to base and dragged him to SHIELD’s medical bay for more tests - not that Barnes put up much of a fight, in fact he was terrifyingly compliant. The SHIELD doctors confirmed what the New Mexico doctors suspected: the bruising and electrical burns around his temples and his memory loss were indicative of some back alley version of electroshock therapy. His memories should come back in time - how long was anybody���s guess - but for the moment Agent James Barnes had no memory of the last four weeks.

Fury picked up a tablet with depressingly little information on its screen and stepped into the room, waiting for Barnes eyes to focus on him before taking a seat. 

“Agent Barnes.”

“Director.”

“I know you’re probably sick of questions by now, but I have a few more for you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, sure…”

It rankled Fury to no end how meak and passive Barnes seemed. Heaven help him, he missed the argumentative sonofabitch.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Being called into your office.”

“What for?”

“I punched Rumlow.”

“Why?”

“He was bragging about taking advantage of a drunk woman at a club when he was last on leave. He didn’t like me calling out his shitty behaviour. He punched me, I punched him back.”

Fury sighed. He hadn't gotten a straight answer out of Barnes at the time of the incident and he couldn’t feel happy about getting one now. 

“Do you remember what happened once I called you into my office?”

His brow creased and his eyes zipped back and forth like the carriage of a printer as his mind searched for the elusive memory.

“You suspended me?”

“I did,” Fury confirmed. “For a whole month. But two weeks into it I pulled you in for a special assignment.”

Barnes tensed, shrinking in on himself. The confusion about his lost time seemed to be the only thing that got under his skin, but only when someone brought it up. Once the moment passed he forgot to be concerned about it.

Fury took pity on him. “For the past two weeks I had you running down leads on the whereabouts of Dr Jane Foster.”

“The scientist with the portals? Did she do this to me?”

“It’s not exactly her MO, but then again no law enforcement agency’s ever managed to have a confrontation with her. Never had the chance. Those portals of hers let her keep at a distance. You might have been the first person to have a face to face with her, but I can’t confirm it because I don’t know where the hell you were when this happened,” he grumbled, letting a little more of his usual exasperated tone filter through. “You missed check in by two days. The last we heard from you, you were at Culver running down leads on what you said was a potential accomplice. We found your car in Tromso, Norway, a day after you were found on the side of a road in New Mexico. You don’t appear on any security footage or speed cameras in the area. There’s no activity on your work or personal credit cards. Your activity logs on our highly secure system for the last two weeks are nonexistent, as are your call logs on your work phone. Even the messages you sent Romanoff from your personal phone complaining about your assignment have since been deleted - from her phone too. She’s real pissed about it. As far as your digital footprint is concerned you disappeared from a gas station outside Roanoke, Virginia, last week - do you know how weird it is to know you were headed out towards a place called Roanoke only to up and vanish?” He sighed at Barnes’ painful silence. “Is there anything you can remember, anything at all about Dr Foster or her accomplice? Anything that will help us catch up to you without talking to everyone on campus to figure out what you discovered?”

Barnes’ brow creased in painful confusion.

“I think… I think I saw Darth Vadar.”

Director Fury blinked. “Right…” He took a deep breath to stop himself from venting his frustrations at Barnes, the sorry bastard looked like a kicked puppy as it was. Instead he got up and tapped the tablet against the metal tabletop harder than strictly necessary. “Well, I’ll just go put out a BOLO out for Darth Vadar then.”

“Okay,” Barnes murmured, and promptly zoned out again.

Agent Romanoff exited the viewing room looking uncharacteristically unsettled. 

“I want a full detail on him at all times,” Fury ordered as he stormed off towards the elevators. Hill had just stepped off and was looking even more grim than usual. “Until his memories come back he’s vulnerable, and once they do he’ll be a target.”

“I’ll get a STRIKE team on it. Not Rumlow’s.”

“Get another one along with any assets currently not on assignment. Flood that campus, interrogate everybody. I wanna know who the hell Dr Foster’s accomplice is, and I wanna know yesterday. Understood?”

“I think we might have more pressing concerns, sir,” Hill reported, tapping at her tablet as it beeped erratically. “Coulson’s said there’s an issue with the Tesseract. Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from it fifteen minutes ago.”

“NASA didn't authorise Selvig to test phase,” he grunted, taking the tablet from Hill.

“He wasn't testing it, he wasn't even in the room. Spontaneous advancement.”

“Motherfucker.”

[littlemissagrafina]

You'll be okay (Cause you're never alone)

(A female Peter Parker and irondad vent fic delving heavily into mental health. If any of the tags are triggering to you, please don't read it. Stay safe, loves.)

Read on AO3

Peyton knew she was loved, she did, but it didn't matter to her brain what she knew. It didn't agree with her. It never did.

When her body felt tired and her arms craved to wrap around her loved ones, her brain would be there trying to convince Peyton that her wants were a burden.

When her eyes wanted nothing more than to cry waterfalls of tears and her body shook with the shivers her anxiety left behind, her mind berated her, told her she was overreacting.

And when Peyton's heart ached with the burden of the sadness her mind bestowed upon it, her mind was there with thoughts of doubt of the love she knew from her family, with fears and losses amplified until she was drowning in a never ending sea of emotion. 

A deep ocean she never let out. All thanks to the words her mind spun around and around in her head, some with no foundation, and some that were all too true.

Peyton never was able to tell which ones hurt more. Those built from truth or those from doubts. It was something she didn't ever think she would know for sure.

What she did know, however, was that she couldn't escape from either kind.

Those borne from doubts could at least occasionally be rationalised far easier than those borne in truth.

But the ones that had a foundation of fact… they ached. They burned and twisted in a way that was different from the doubting ones. 

They settled into her chest and tightened until she couldn't breathe.

They couldn't be softened the way that doubt born ones could, and as such, they haunted Peyton far worse than any other.

They followed in her every interaction, every move, every word she spoke. It was what had forced her to hide herself away and for the weight to all start building upon her back in the first place.

They stemmed from May and Peyton hated that her aunt, her mother in all but blood, was the start of her spiraling that she tried so hard to hide.

Peyton loved May with all of her heart and she knew that the woman loved her just as deeply. They were so close and such a part of each other… but that didn't take away from the way May's views, misunderstanding, and ignorance had affected Peyton.

It didn't change the years of being told everything would be fine and that she was smart, she couldn't possibly be struggling with anything. 

"You just have to apply yourself more, Sweetheart."

It didn't change the countless bad days where all Peyton had wanted to do was curl up in her bed and not get up only for her aunt to say that she had no reason to be sad.

"I know things have been hard in the past, Pey, but we're fine now. There's no reason to be sad."

It didn't change the many times that May had dismissed her when Peyton had tried to bring up her thoughts on possibly being ADHD.

"You're not hyper, Peyton. You can't have ADHD."

And it didn't change the time when she finally said she battled with anxiety only for May to tell her, "Just don't be anxious then."

Moments like those were repeated over and over again for years until Peyton eventually gave up. 

She started hiding her fear of school.

Her depression was covered by fake smiles and countless jokes in a bid to be okay.

Lack of concentration and daydreaming was disguised as thinking about homework or a new idea for her lab time with Mr. Stark.

Shaking hands and anxiety hives were brushed aside as needing something to eat and her shirts or hoodies making her itch.

Slowly but surely, Peyton became a master of excuses. Although many of them she probably only got away with due to her aunt's decidedly bad observation skills.

Maybe that was one of the reasons she was able to get away with the occasional nights of blood slowly dripping down from her thighs to swirl down the shower drain. It had become her release, her escape.

An injury from patrol or her own general clumsiness used as an excuse for the bandaids that became more and more likely to disappear from their shared bathroom cabinet.

Through it all, May was none the wiser to the war her niece was waging on and within herself.

Tony Stark, however, he was a different case. He noticed things that most took for granted. He used his cocky and flashy media persona to distract from his eyes soaking in every detail he could from any situation he found himself in.

He was the one person that Peyton's own masks and acts didn't fool. He didn't always easily accept the excuses for the stray cuts that would appear on her arms or the dark, puffy circles under her eyes.

Tony wasn't like May in that way.

And so it sadly came as no surprise when he noticed after one too many weeks of Peyton being entirely too reckless with her pocket knife, when the cuts on her thighs became deeper than they had before and her healing took longer to stop the bleeding.

The constant craving for the pain had snuck up on Peyton until the escape she found was one she could no longer escape from.

Peyton had foolishly hoped that she could get away with it for a while longer even though she knew she had to be stopped, no matter how much she didn't want to.

Her hopes were for nothing and it was all thanks to a single pair of grey sweatpants.

---

The second and fourth weekends of each month were reserved for Peyton and Tony to go upstate and spend the two day weekend (from the time Peyton left her last class on Friday to Monday morning when Tony would drop her off at Midtown) at the compound.

In the early days they had used to train in the larger, more well equipped gym as well as more complex suit enhancements.

Now, however, it was still used for those things at times but it had become far more of a mini getaway for the two of them. Occasionally they would be joined by Pepper or Rhodey but for the most part it was the two of them.

It was routine. Something familiar and comforting in the reliability of the twice a month escape.

As such, Peyton's self-harm habits had formed a routine around these weekends as well. It was one of the few times she restricted herself to not cutting at all apart from the friday morning before school.

Usually, those cuts would be scabbed over and partially healed by the time Tonh picked her up. 

Today was not a usual day.

Thanks to the sudden cold brought by an early winter cold spell, a lot of Peyton's energy was spent by her metabolism trying to keep her body warm and stop her from going into hibernation. 

Add that to the new depth and disregard of the far more frequently added cuts on her thighs and you get a healing factor that doesn't have the resources to work as it normally does.

Peyton hadn't thought of that when she had shakily re-opened the cuts in the hidden second floor bathroom after her last class. The only thing that had registered was the leftover surge of anxiety from Flash's recent bullying and the sudden single minded craving to split her skin open.

Realising the time when Tony sent her a message telling her that he was in the parking lot, Peyton folded up toilet paper and roughly bundled it between her thighs and pants to stop any of the blood from seeping through on her jeans. 

She could deal with it later when she changed at the compound.

---

Unsurprisingly, she didn't deal with it, instead she flushed the wads of toilet paper down the toilet before changing into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie so she could be comfortable in the lab.

Her first mistake.

Her second mistake came from forgetting that the sluggishly bleeding cuts would eventually start to coagulate and scab. And that they did. Against her sweatpants.

Her last mistake?

Well, that was jumping up after sitting in the same position for two hours. Two hours that had her cuts start healing before they were re-opened thanks to her sudden movement.

Peyton couldn't stop the wince at the pain of the scabs peeling back as her pants shifted on her legs.

She was unaware that her mentor (read: unofficial father) had been glancing at her at times as he tried to piece together the puzzle of her increasingly strange behaviour that had formed over the last months.

As such, Peyton didn't see the way his face paled when he noticed the blood on her pants. Fear and sadness filling his heart as all the pieces were put together. It had all been right there in front of him, sign after sign, and he'd missed every one.

"Peyton." The man said, getting up from his workbench and moving towards her.

"Hmm?" Peyton hummed, ignoring the fabric tugging on her thighs as she turned to face him.

The look Tony fixed on her made Peyton pause, her eyes following his when they subconsciously flickered to the red stain on her pants. In seconds she felt the blood drain from her face and her fingers get the tell tale tingling of her anxiety flaring.

Before Tony could speak, she was rising with a well practiced excuse on her lips. "I'm so sorry. I have my period and… lemme just go change and clean up and I'll be back in a bit."

She made it to the elevator before a hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. 

"Don't do this, Peyton."

"Do what?" Her feigned confusion was almost believable but Tony saw the way her hands quivered slightly at her side as she shrugged his hand off and stepped into the elevator.

Tony followed.

"Don't lie to me. Make excuses."

The doors closed and it was silent as they moved up to the living room.

After a few moments, Peyton shook her head. "I'm not–"

Tony guided her to face him. "Your period was two weeks ago, the last time we came up here. I know because you were annoyed at your nausea and cramps keeping you from trying out the new aerial bars in the gym."

The doors opened and Peyton walked out, moving towards her room and trying in vain to think of an excuse, a protest, anything to get herself out of the inevitable. 

Before she could get out of the living room, Tony caught her sleeve, stopping her in place.

"You're not okay, I see that. If this is–" Tony cut himself off, drawing in a short breath. "You are hurting, Bambina, no matter the form. I want to help you but I need you to talk to me. Please."

It was almost as if the wind was taken out of Peyton's sails. Her head droped and she let out a tired breath.

"You're right," Peyton finally admitted, words spoken so softly that Tony had to strain to hear her. 

The admission hurt Tony to hear. He'd known, but he had still wished in vain to be wrong.

"I– uh. It's not– I don't…" She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to explain or to say anything at all.

None of the words were the right ones for what she needed to say and to finally get out after so many years of keeping them locked away.

And then it all came rushing in. The realisation that someone knew. The terror of the reality of Tony, the man who was practically her father, finding out what she had done, what she did, to herself.

"Roo." A hand cupped Peyton's cheek grounding, her from the flood of emotion and thought. She looked up, blinking through the tears building in her eyes and met Tony's own teary ones.

She let out a whimper, "I'm not okay."

And she broke.

She sobbed, and she hiccuped, the force of her cries sending tremors through her body but Tony only cradled her in his arms. He held her together so she could let herself fall apart, and fall she did.

Through her tears she explained everything. All of her doubts, her fears, her anxieties, sadness, and the expectations she felt she could never live up to.

She told him about the nights cried herself to sleep and the nights where she was too numb and tired to rest. She told him of the words said to her that she couldn't help but take deeply and personally, no matter the true meaning behind them.

And she told him about the anxiety attacks, about the dissociation, and (most heavily) about the self harm. How it was sometimes the only escape she felt she had, even above her patrols or her missions as Spider-Woman.

Through it all, Tony listened. He didn't try to interrupt, he didn't tell her she was wrong or making anything up, he only listened. 

For the first time, Peyton felt as if she was truly heard.

Her tears eventually stopped, only the occasional sniffle left behind. Her dad's arms never left their place wrapped around her. They only moved when Tony shuffled them across to the couch where Peyton immediately curled into his arms again.

"I'm sorry I'm so messed up. I know I'm not okay but I'm sorry that I just dumped it on you like tha–"

"Peyt, Bambina, it's okay. It's okay." Tony's eyes were earnest, nothing but love and truth in them as he looked down at her. "This is going to sound cheesy, I know, but it is okay not to be okay."

He sat up slightly, shifting until Peyton was facing him on the couch. "I'm not going to lie, this is going to be one hell of a time to get through and past, but we will get you help and I will be by your side to support you through all of it."

Peyton chewed on her lip, fingers subconsciously digging into the tops of her thighs before Tony curled her palms into his own.

"Talk to me, Pey, what's going on in your head?"

"I'm scared." Peyton hesitated before admitting it. She was silent again, almost warring with herself to get her next words out. "I dunno how to be different or who I am without the hurt or the hiding. And I don't know how to stop wanting to hurt myself or be clumsy so I get hurt on purpose. I know it's a bad and dangerous thing but I also don't want to stop. I don't know how to escape all of this."

She looked at her dad, scared that she would find disgust at what she had now said in words despite it already being discovered earlier with her stating it. "I'm scared that you'll hate me or be angry or disgusted that I'm like this."

At her words, Tony's eyes hardened, a fierceness in them that wasn't as strong moments ago. 

"Peyton Parker, if there is one thing I Will never ever hate you, be disgusted, or angry, alright? Never. Not for one fuckibg second. Do you hear me?"

Peyton, do you hear me?" Tony repeated when she only nodded.

"Yes. I hear you."

Tony nodded. "Good because it's never changing. We're gonna get you the help you need, baby. I promise you."

Not knowing how to thank him, Peyton settled for hugging him again, smiling for the first time that evening when she felt a kiss against her hair.

"I love you, Dad." She said without thinking, freezing slightly when she felt Tony tense before he relaxed.

Tony murmured back to her, before she could apologise. "I love you too, Tesoro." 

It was quiet, then. Heavy from all that had been said, but not uncomfortable or awkward.

Things weren't okay. But okay could wait, because in these seconds and moments, after all that had changed and happened that evening, there was peace.

---

Eventually Peyton would speak once more, her voice small and almost childlike in her need for guidance and assurance.

"We'll get through this?" She asked softly.

And Tony would answer, firm and sure. 

"We will."

[luxekook]

in too deep ☼ knj

☼ dedication: this fic is a bday present for the loml tay aka tay bay bay aka @interludemoonchild​!!!! luv u long time <33 (sorry this isn’t about hobi skksksks)

☼ pairing: marine biologist namjoon x assistant reader

☼ genre: idiots to lovers, fluff, angst, crack

☼ summary: you had always grown up being told tales of terrible jobs with tyrannical bosses. but now, you’re left to wonder why you hadn’t heard more tragic stories of all-too-wonderful jobs with all-too-beautiful bosses... did falling for your boss only lead to heartbreak and a two weeks’ notice? or could it yield the possibility of romance?

☼ word count: 3.1k

☼ warnings: pg15, cursing, chaotic energy, pining, miscommunication, mentions of quitting, lots of sea nerd stuff, namjoon is smart af but an idiot in love, the reader isn’t any better, crabby bois, arguments, completely cheesy fluff, short make out sesh, mention of sex

☼ banner creator: heathy bby @shadowsremedy​

☼ beta reader: the amazing and astoundingly talented phia @meowxyoong​

“Kim Namjoon!” You cry, swatting the blue-clawed crab away from your feet with a broom, “What did I tell you about bringing your goddamn crustaceans into the office?”

The man in question hustles out of his office looking disheveled, “You’ve seen Carl?” He sinks right down to his hands and knees to peer under your desk. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, little buddy!”

You stare disappointedly as your boss picks up ‘Carl’ from his hiding place and cradles him to his chest. “Namjoon,” You sigh exasperatedly, folding your arms.

He looks up at you and blushes, “Sorry, Star. I just feel so bad leaving them downstairs at the lab. It’s so lonely and dark down there.” 

While your stomach flips at the mention of his nickname for you, your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Well, why don’t you just stay down there with them?”

“Because you’re up here…” He mumbles something incoherent. 

“What?” You lean forwards, your ears straining to catch the garbled syllables.

Namjoon clears his throat, looking everywhere but at you, “Because it’s nicer up here.”

“Don’t tell your investors that,” You laugh, thinking of all the fancy and shiny equipment housed in the aquatics lab a few floors below. Working for a top-tier marine biologist sure had its perks - namely the state of the art kitchen with a full espresso bar. 

“Star, I would never!” He looks affronted by the mere mention of such a thing. “Now, apologize to Carl for scaring him.” 

You scoff, but just one glance into Namjoon’s sparkling brown eyes makes you crumble instantly. “Fine,” You begrudgingly shoot the crab a look, “Sorry, Carl.”

“See, Carl?” Namjoon croons, “She’s sorry!” As he turns back to you, you can immediately tell he is about to launch into Marine Biologist Mode™. 

“Carl is a blue crab - a Callinectes sapidus, to be precise. That scientific name literally means ‘savory beautiful swimmer’.”

“Savory, huh?” You quip, relishing in the scandalized look Namjoon shoots you.

“Don’t listen to her, Carl,” He whispers, stroking a finger gently down the crab’s shell. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes… He’s named for his pretty sapphire-tinted claws, and he’s one of the most harvested species of his kind. So, don’t even think about it.”

You burst out laughing as he eyes you, “Okay, Joon, I’ll leave my pot of boiling water at home.”

Namjoon splutters out a choked laugh, looking at you like you are the most exasperating thing he’s ever come across. And, you probably are.

When you came to work for the distinguished marine biologist four months ago, you found him literally buried beneath piles of research papers, files, and National Geographic magazines. Apparently, he had tripped into his filing cabinet and everything had fallen off of the shelves onto him. The man had been a right mess. It was no wonder he had put an ad out in search of an assistant.

In your new role, you slowly but surely introduced some structure and organization into Namjoon’s life as best you could. The first thing you did was update his office. The man still had an honest to god lava lamp on his desk. You were still baffled at how he had managed not to break the fixture before your arrival.

Swiftly following the disposal of the cursed lava lamp, you ordered new file cabinets - and had them nailed to the wall. Virtually, you did even more. You restructured his online platforms and updated his schedule to include more than just scattered notes like “Meeting at 10AM, i think? Or was it 10PM?”

To his credit, Namjoon adhered to most of your suggestions and changes, but apparently he still refused to grasp the ‘no creatures in the office’ rule.

Overall, Namjoon was a great boss - kind, understanding, sweet, and a tad eccentric. His love for all things sea-related shone through the gentle way he handled his specimens, the passionate tone of voice he used while speaking on any related topic, and the stars in his eyes at the mere mention of discovering a new species.

It had been all too easy to become infatuated with him. Especially when he called you “Star” and left you to interpret the meaning on your own. 

You remember the exact moment that you fell in love with him so vividly. It had been last month, just three months into working for him. Namjoon had been going off about fucking sand of all things.

“…Sand speaks of history, of science, of travels. Each grain of sand holds thousands upon thousands of years of movement, of erosion. For example, the beach outside of this building is tan because of the iron oxide tinting the quartz and the feldspar to a light brown color. But, there are other beaches that are black, white and even pink in color! It’s fascinating! And to quote the goddess of marine biology Rachel Carson: "In every curving beach, in every grain of sand, there is a story of the Earth…”

Yeah, you are head over heels for your boss. And that’s why you needed to quit.

The end of the workday arrives too quickly - a common theme it seems when you love what you do and who you work for. Namjoon walks beside you down to the parking lot. You sneak a glance at his face and note that he seems deep in thought.

Your mind slips to the image of you and Namjoon going home together to a shared house overrun with fish tanks and models of sharks. It’s all too easy to picture, and all too painful to acknowledge the impossibility.

“Star,” Namjoon’s voice jolts you from your fantasy. You blink up at him, realizing you’re both stopped beside your adjacent cars. Namjoon smiles at you, “I’ll see you tomorrow? It’ll be Friday, finally...” 

It seems like he wants to say more but stops himself for some reason. You pause, waiting for him to continue, but he just blushes and brings a hand to the back of his neck bashfully.

“Yeah, Friday,” Your tone is less enthusiastic. You planned to hand in your two weeks’ notice tomorrow. It’s a complete strategy on your part so that you can have the whole weekend to cry and shove at least one gallon of ice cream down your throat.

You wave goodbye to each other and enter your respective cars. You watch Namjoon pull out of the parking lot before you and pause to rest your forehead on your steering wheel. You were so screwed.

Twenty-four exhausting hours later, you find yourself with your fist poised over Namjoon’s wooden office door. Are you actually doing this? Are you really going to quit the only job you’d ever loved? 

Yes, you are. You love Namjoon too much to stay here surrounded by his charisma and his beauty. You love him too much to try to complicate his workspace, his sacred ground. You love him too much to ask him to blur the lines of colleague and lover.

You need to leave - for his sake and for yours. It isn’t like he still needs you. He has been following your routine with vigor and always keeps his office organized now. Your tasks have been dwindling for weeks. 

It’s time to move on. God, even the tension today had been off the charts with you and Namjoon skirting around each other like you were both walking on eggshells. Clearly, he is also feeling like you are in the way.

With that in mind, you straighten your shoulders and finally knock on the door.

Your ears strain for any sign of an answer. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to sustain the meager amount of courage you had mustered up inside you. Twisting open the handle, you push the door open and are immediately met with an empty office. Damn, he must be downstairs.

You chuckle at the sheer idiocy of your panicked state over knocking on an empty office door.

This is perfect anyways. You can hand Namjoon your two weeks’ and then evacuate the building in one sweep. Shutting down your computer and grabbing your things, you trudge out of the room and towards the stairs.

The journey downwards seems akin to walking the plank as you take each step slowly, dreading the inevitable. 

Ciara has it all wrong: you do not love it when you One, Two Step. 

The entrance to the lab looms overhead. The steel double doors look more like the gateway to hell rather than a nice entrance to a marine facility. You don’t break your stride as you march through the doors. If you had, you might not have kept going.

The familiar light humming of the tank filters meets your ears as you peer around the rows of shelves containing colorful fish and scuttling critters.

“Joon?” You call, the nickname slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

“Back here, Star!” His answer sounds from the very back of the lab. Of course, that’s where the crabs are housed.

You make your way past the tanks of clownfish and the pools of stingrays to where Namjoon sits hunched over the shallow tank containing four green-tinted crabs. 

“That’s it, Nala.” Namjoon croons as the smallest of the four crabs swims around the tank, “You show your brothers how fast you are.”

“Talking to your subjects again, boss?” You can’t help but tease the man you've grown to love as he fawns over his work.

Namjoon blushes slightly and nods, pushing his glasses up to rest on the bridge of his nose, “Studies have shown that it helps them develop.”

“I thought that was humans?” You say, shifting your weight back and forth. The letter in your hand seems to burn more each second you hold onto it. You couldn't take it anymore.

As Namjoon opens his mouth to reply, you thrust the letter into his chest and say, “Never mind. This is for you. Please read it later.”

With that, you fast-walk your way back to the entrance of the lab. The sound of the envelope tearing open only forces you faster. Fuck, it had been idiotic of you to assume that he would actually listen to you and open it later. Namjoon is as impatient as they come. Of course he wouldn't wait.

“Star!” His strangled call startles you, “What is this?”

“We can talk about it on Monday!” You reply, somehow already close to tears. Why is this godforsaken lab so big? You pace down the aisles of tanks and breathe a sigh of relief as the exit comes into view. 

Then, Namjoon comes barreling around the corner, cutting off your escape. The man looks baffled as he clutches your written resignation in his hands. His chest heaves as he holds the torn pages out towards you, “What. Is. This. Star?”

You bristle. I guess we’re doing this now, you thought. Stiffening your shoulders, you muster all the false bravado you can manage, “It’s my two weeks’ notice, Namjoon. I’m sure a smart guy like you can read.”

“Okay, allow me to rephrase,” Namjoon stalks towards you, tossing the crumpled letter over his shoulder. “Why did you give me this?”

“The letter explains everything,” Your eyes dart around, both in search of a viable escape and in avoidance of his intensity.

“Sure it does,” He scoffs, his eyes blazing with disbelief. “I want to hear it from you.”

Your back hits the cool glass of the tank behind you. You’re trapped between the contrasting temperatures of the water and Namjoon’s body.

“Joon,” Your voice shakes, “You don’t need me anymore. You’ve done everything I've asked of you and then some. You’re organized. You’re on time. You’re put together. I barely have enough tasks now to fill a day, let alone a week. It’s time to move on.”

“Time to move on?” Namjoon echoes before barking out a humorless laugh, “I don’t need you anymore? That’s really what you think, Star?”

“Don’t call me that.” The nickname snufs out any trace of fight left inside you, and you plead, “Just let me go, Joon.”

“Never,” He growls.

“I don’t understand what you’re not getting,” You sigh, exasperated and drained, “You’ve surpassed my expectations and erased the need for my position. I think the saying ‘the student has become the master’ applies here.”

Namjoon gapes at you before he snaps, “You’re the one who’s not getting it! Have you ever considered that the student might just be in love with the teacher?”

Joon rakes a hand through his hair as you become the one to gape open mouthed at the frustrated man.

He continues, “I wake up earlier every damn day because I can’t wait to see you at work. I organize all of my things because I just want to see you smile at me when you notice. I spend an hour each night picking out what to wear the next day because I want to impress you… Don’t you see? Everything I do is for you, is because of you. I want to be the best version of myself for you.”

Your mind struggles to compute the seemingly impossible notion that the object of your affections returns your love. “Did you,” You gasp out, “Just say that you loved me?”

“Yes, you complete jellyfish! I love you. I am in love with you! And it’s not like it’s not obvious! I call you ‘Star’ because you are my starfish, my sea star. You are the one who keeps the balance to my ecosystem of chaos. You are the key species that keeps everything afloat.”

“And you thought that was obvious?” You yell back at him, “How on earth would I immediately have known the intense analysis behind your nickname for me, Namjoon the science buffoon?” You huff, scrambling to process the amount of information that had just been thrown at you. 

He needed you?

He loved you back? 

He nicknamed you after a fucking marine invertebrate?!

Namjoon blinks in surprise, “Did you just insult me with a Bill Nye pun?” You don’t deign to give him a response. Namjoon chuckles before grinning sheepishly, “Okay, fine. You make a good point.”

“I know I do,” You pout. “You can’t just spring this on me, Joon. Why haven't you told me this before?”

“Because I was nervous that you would leave me, that you wouldn't return my feelings. Obviously, the first point is moot. What about the second?”

“You’re asking if I love you back?” Your body sags against the tank behind you, “How could I not, you crab-loving, walking mess of a—”

Namjoon captures your mouth with his, kissing you with fervor. His hands wind their way up to cradle your face between them like you are the most precious thing to him. 

Pulling back slightly, Namjoon rasps out, “So, you’ll stay?” 

“Hm, I don’t know,” You crack a wry smile, “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, let me show you,” Namjoon replies before whipping his shirt off. You gape open mouthed at the expanse of beautiful tan skin in front of you. 

Was that a hint of a tattoo swirling over his left shoulder?

He reaches down to tug at the hem of your dress, insinuating he wants it off. A nice concept in theory; however, with one look around at your surroundings, you slap his hand away. “Namjoon! Not in front of the fish!”

“But, Star, these aren’t fish! These are squid, and they are classed as cephalopods—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “Allow me to clarify: I will only fuck in a creature-free zone.”

Namjoon murmurs something beneath your palm. You give him a warning look before removing your hand. He immediately repeats himself, “My office?”

Your eyes narrow, “I know for a fact you have at least three crabs in there.”

Namjoon pauses, looking suspiciously shifty, “There are only seven…” 

You wait for it.

“...teen.” He finishes.

“Kim Namjoon!”

Two Years Later

The short walk down the aisle ends too quickly as you find yourself standing in front of a teary-eyed Namjoon. Five of his friends stand behind him in a row, while the sixth stands proudly as the officiant.

They really are out here looking like a whole boy band, you muse. But, you only have eyes for their leader. 

Namjoon stands before you, all tall and handsome in his tux; and as Officiant Jin™ begins the ceremony, you can't help but wonder how you got so lucky.

Finally, the ring exchange is introduced dramatically by Seokjin who spouts something about circles and never ending love. “Let us now have the rings brought forward and presented by the ring-bearer!” He booms, raising his arms up like he is summoning a great force.

Ring-bearer? You rake your mind for a prior mention of a ring-bearer… You thought Yoongi as the best man would have the rings.

Suddenly, Namjoon produces a silver whistle from his pocket and blows it once. You stare at your soon-to-be husband like he has sprouted another head.

And then you hear it: the sound of legs and claws scuttling across the floor towards the altar. 

“Tell me that is not what I think it is,” You whisper-yell over to Namjoon, who looks way too pleased for your liking.

Your fears and exasperations come true as Namjoon swoops down to pick up Carl who has two shiny rings tied to his shell with a ribbon.

“Oh, Kim Namjoon,” You sigh as you watch him remove the rings from Carl and hand the crab off to a disgruntled Taehyung, “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to marry me,” Namjoon grins.

And marry him you did.

a/n: jellyfish have no brains, lolz. idk why making joon call the reader a jellyfish made me crack tf up but IT DID.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[writingithink]

Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet​ who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did. 

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t. 

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

“It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting). 

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas. 

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier. 

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment. 

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her. 

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’. 

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry). 

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.” 

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word. 

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked. 

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

[3pirouette]

Fic: Worthy (or Five Times Steve Talked to People about Time Travel and One Time He Didn’t) (1/1)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: “What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

A/N: I started this on August 8, 2019. I have revisited it various times since then, fixing things that were misremembered after we got Endgame on DVD and fixing tenses. It feels more appropriate than ever right now to post, though. The first section, with Wanda, was written back in 2019. I’ve made minor edits, but her words have been around LONG before WandaVision was even announced. Obviously, by the ending, AU.

Also, I KNOW I skip potentially the MOST important person he should be talking to, but Steve’s conversation with Bucky from this fic actually got pulled out and turned into it’s own fic/universe: Six Dates, Times, and Places. Read that if you need some BFF Steve and Bucky.

~*~

Steve woke up at night in cold sweats, still feeling the vibranium cracking under his fingers as he tried to recenter himself, as he tried to remember where he was. The small tent on the edge of the former battlefield wasn’t much, but it was better than he’d been used to when he was in the trenches, and it was enough for now.

He let other people, better equipped people like Pepper and Strange and Sam handle the big stuff- the cities and the government and the publicity and the how of everything they did. He was never really prepared for what happened if they brought everyone back, he admitted it to himself now on dark nights when he woke up with his heart racing, that he never really thought they’d do it.

He headed up the clean-up: walking through the destruction and trying to put some order to it, helping dig out the bodies of good men and women who lost their lives, who wouldn’t be brought back by a snap, helping destroy the tech that Thanos had brought so it never fell into the wrong hands. He and Wanda spent their days putting right what went so very, very wrong.

Even with everything nearly done, with the building nearly ready for renovation and every lost soul accounted for and laid to rest, it didn’t seem over. It had been weeks, and yet the years before seemed like moments. He spent his days moving like a ghost, going from task to task, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After it was over, when the clean-up was deemed done and it had been decided it was time to move on, Wanda was the first person he said anything to as they stood together on the ridge, overlooking the old Avengers headquarters as it was bulldozed to the ground. “I should probably feel happier,” Wanda mumbled. “At peace.”

Steve sighed, looking at the scorched dirt beneath his feet: it was ruined. Nothing would grow there for years after the hit it took. “You don’t have to feel anything.” He looked at her, unsurprised to find tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. “I don’t.”

“I’ve thought so many times about…” The words caught in her throat, but she took a deep breath and continued, “About sneaking into Bruce’s lab and taking that stone. The time stone…”

Steve didn’t say anything, just waited for her to finish: he was afraid that his own selfish desires regarding that stone would just fuel her own.

“But going back wouldn’t fix it,” her words were as much for his benefit as her own. They both knew it was far, far too tempting.

“You don’t think so?” He played the devils advocate, and it felt good to let it out. “You don’t think that maybe you two could just avoid it all? Or even stop it all?”

“After this?” She looked over the dead land and shuddered. “The way I understand it, it would always happen, would always come. And I just…” Her voice broke, and there was a darkness in her eyes he was uncomfortable with when she turned to face him. “I just couldn’t live through that again.”

Wanda turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at him. “We deserve more,” she whispered. “We’ve lost everything to make this happen. We deserve more.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation, but it was enough to remind him that those dark thoughts were just that- thoughts. And those thoughts would have consequences he wasn’t ready to pay the price for, or so he told himself.

Deep down, he felt like he deserved something, too.

~*~

The next time he discussed time travel was with Bruce and Hank. Pym was describing the use of his newly altered regulators while Bruce was constructing a smaller platform. This would be the last time, they both said over and over, that it would be used. Pym planned to destroy all references to the quantum realm in his work and Bruce had been working with Fury and Shield to carefully control the flow of information about what had happened.

“Son, please tell me you understand how dangerous this little trip of yours is going to be?” Pym asked him softly, laying both his hands on the table as he looked him right in the eyes. For a minute, Steve felt like he was back with Erskine- Pym had the ability to see straight into his soul the same way that man did.

“I understand, sir.” Steve nodded, trying to hide every morsel of dark thought, every late-night inkling and every dark moment. He was going to bring the stones back, return, and… and…  He doesn’t know where he fits in in this new world, doesn’t even know if he wants to, really, and that must be what Pym saw on his face.

Pym narrowed his eyes at him, but didn’t move. The silence stretched so long that even Bruce stopped what he was doing to look over and watch. “Ask your question.”

Steve could barely hold the façade of surprise for a breath before it fell. He let the pretense fall away: his shoulders hunched, his eyes dropped to the floor, and he felt like a different man. He felt like Steve, the broken veteran, and not Captain America, the superhero. “How much… how much damage can I really do?”

Before Pym could speak, Bruce put down his wrench and had his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know that look, Steve. That’s the look I had about a million times before I left every place that ever meant anything to me.”

Pym slid a stool over and sat softly, his face grim. “There’s not much that you could say that would surprise either of us, so I suggest you come out with it.”

Steve looked at them, their faces as open and honest as his was at every grief management group he ran during the dusted years: they were waiting for him to say that he wasn’t coming back because he wanted to take his life.

But it was more like he wanted to take his life back.  It hadn’t been his since Erskine accepted him into Project Rebirth, he just didn’t know it then.

“Don’t I…” He stopped, staring at his shoes. It took a lot for him to look up, into their eyes. “I don’t feel like…” He stopped again and took another deep breath. He wasn’t sure if they’d ever understand. He wasn’t sure if they could.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and it bumped against him compass. His lifeline. His reminder.  

He knew their stories. If anyone could understand, they would.

He pulled the compass out and opened it gently, putting it on the table. “Her name was…”

“Peggy Carter,” Pym finished. “She busted my balls as the head of Shield, but she was on my side when it counted.” Pym turned the compass gently, noting the slow spin of the broken dial.

Bruce looked at Steve, sadness in his eyes. “Steve, I didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t want anyone to know.” He shrugged, taking the compass in his hands. “She died, right before the bombing and the signing of the Sakovia Accords.”

Pym stood, the scraping of his chair cutting off anything either man would have said. “You were… a lot skinnier when you met her, weren’t you?” He stepped next to Steve, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kinda sickly, too.”

Steve laughed, a slight smile on his face as the memory hit him. “I wasn’t exactly in the best shape of my life.”

“Director Carter kept this picture on her desk of a skinny, kinda confused looking GI.” He looked up at Bruce, “I asked her about it one day. I knew she had a husband that no one ever got to meet, and that he was at least 6 inches taller than her based on the glimpse I managed of him once when I showed up at her house unannounced.” Hank began to circle the room, hands coming out and fidgeting. “She said it was someone she knew during the war, and that it was a reminder to never take a single thing for granted. Now, most people assumed it was her brother who was KIA.” He turned and looked at both men, a smirk on his lips. “But the way she smiled when she looked at it: it wasn’t sad and it wasn’t sisterly, either.”

Pym picked up a vial of the serum, looking at it. “Bruce, correct me if I’m wrong, but to be as honest as I can be, we really don’t know what kind of damage you could do if you go back and…” he chose his words carefully, “don’t stick to the plan.”

“Uh, that’s true. We really don’t know how this works; I just know what Strange and The Ancient One told me. That if we put them back, it should kinda… fix itself.” Banner shrugged, unsure if he was as onboard with what Pym was implying as Pym seemed to be.

Pym almost looked happy as he continued to think out loud. “We don’t know the rules. For all we know, there are no rules to it. The Quantum Realm is… nearly unknowable. But the way she looked at that picture…” He sighed, placing the vial back in its rack. He looked Steve in the eyes, open, honest, and unjudging. “You’ll have enough to get back, if you want to.”

Pym went back to his computer, and Bruce went back to his tinkering, and Steve never heard another word on the subject from either of them.

~*~

His first stop in the past was the sanctum. He wanted to meet the Ancient One, to see her, to hear what Bruce had told them for himself directly from her.

She didn’t disappoint. She took the stone back, letting it float into the locket she wore with no more fanfare than if she were asking him about the weather. “So, I assume you prevailed?”

“We did,” he confirmed, sitting when she gestured for him to join her in the library. “There were still losses…” he sighed deeply, thinking of Tony, “but we won.”

She sat quietly, waiting expectantly as the tic of the clock was the only sound between them for long minutes. “In your time,” she whispered gently. “Your question is not something that can be rushed.”

“Do you know what I’m going to ask?” He leaned forward, letting Mjolnir rest on the floor, the case full of stones next to it.

“No,” she tried to smile but it fell flat. “I can feel the anger and frustration coming off you in waves, the defeat, the… fatigue. You did not come to me first out of convenience.”

He looked away, still unsure of where to start even though he had said it a million times over in his head. In the end, he blurted it out. “What if I stay?”

He’d caught her off guard, for it wasn’t remotely what she thought he’d ask. She sat straighter; eyes wide. “I’m sorry?”

“What…what if I stay?” He took a breath. “I don’t feel like there’s much for me there… in the future… anymore. I’m tired. I wanted… I wanted to hang up the shield when that war was over… I think I’ve given more than my fair share.” His words fell to nothing as he finished that sentence. “I only ever wanted to do my fair share…”

She looked at him, wonderment in her eyes, “You never planned on giving up your whole life.”

He tried to laugh it off. “The things you don’t understand when you’re barely more than a kid, right?”

“You had hopes and dreams, just like any other man out there.” The Ancient One stood, stepping toward him. “Why that surprises me, I’m not sure. Even Gods are men at their very core. Even I was once a woman with hopes and desires.”

“It feels wrong to say these things out loud...” he let his hands fall to Mjolnir, afraid to try to lift it. Every day since the battle he’d been surprised that it still comes so easily to his hand.

She came closer until she was kneeling before him. “And yet they must be said.” She waited until he met her gaze. “If you go back to your time, my future, what waits for you?”

He took a deep breath, leaning back, eyes far away. “Friends. Duty.” He sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Putting the world back together and finding our place in the universe.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And what waits for you if you go back to the past?”

He couldn’t look at her. “I don’t… I don’t know if…”

The Ancient One put her hand on his. “What do you hope is there?”

Steve smiled briefly, the words out before he can stop them. “I had a date.”

“Love,” she whispers, almost disappointed.

“And understanding,” Steve pipes in quickly. His words grow passionate as he continues. “She knew me better than anyone ever has- she knew me before this,” he gestured to himself, not for the first time wishing his muscles were a suit he could shed to show people just what he was like, and why it’s so significant that Peggy understood him back then, “and she still stood by me. I got the feeling… I got the feeling that even if the serum never worked she still would have liked me. No, I’m sure of it. She was smart and beautiful and everything I ever dreamed my future might be.” He stopped short. “Don’t... don’t I deserve that, after all this?”  

“The universe doesn’t deal in ‘deserves’ Mr. Rogers.” She stood, her voice flat and perfunctory. “If it did children wouldn’t die of cancer and good men wouldn’t die in religious wars.” She kept her hand on his, pulling him to his feet. “The universe deals in balance, though, and I feel you are due for some rest.” She reached down, lifting the case of stones and handing it to him, but she did not even attempt to lift the hammer. “Go on,” she waited as he gingerly lifted the hammer, his breath coming easy after it was in his hand. “I cannot tell you anything for sure. But I can tell you the sanctums you know of are in existence back farther than you could imagine. Should you feel things have taken a turn for the worse, do not hesitate to find me.”

Her smile was gentle, and somewhat forced, but it made him feel just a little better.

~*~

The soul stone disappeared from his case as soon as he materialized, and he didn’t stay to find out why. He understood the toll that place could take, and he had so very little left to give.

He left so quickly he didn’t hear the Red Skull whisper his name on the wind.

~*~

Once on Asgard, he thought about just putting the hammer down and letting Thor find it, but he decided that wielding it might just get him out of trouble if he was caught trying to make his way into the palace through the underground tunnels Thor told him about.

The only person who saw him was the one he least expected.

“Why did he send you?” Loki asked from behind the forcefield. “Unless… he isn’t…”

“No, he’s not dead.” Steve supplied the information wearily.

The god paced his cell, “You’re from the future, as well, then?” He smiled at the soldier. “Thor was looking a bit… pudgy.” His voice and face showed his confusion and slight repulsion at the idea. “That’s not the Thor running around with his little girlfriend up there now. I know that much.”

“Things went…bad.” Steve didn’t know how much to tell the man. He believed Thor when he said Loki wasn’t the villain they pegged him to be, but he also was still very wary of the god. “We…did what we could.”

“Could you be any more cryptic?” Loki sat on his bed, leaning back, amusement in his voice. “Interesting development, though, there,” he pointed to Thor’s hammer, “You must truly be something to wield that.”

Something must have changed in Steve’s face, something barely perceptible, but Loki saw it. “You doubt yourself?”

Steve knew he shouldn’t talk to him, and yet, there was something alluring about the trickster. “I’m… concerned I won’t be… worthy.” It sounded lame even to him as it fell out of his lips.

Loki laughed. “Who is?” The trickster paced. He started to speak, then changed his mind with a dramatic shake of his head. He stopped, crouching behind the forcefield so he was eye to eye with Steve. “Whatever it is rattling around in your head… You’re leaving Mjolnir here, aren’t you?” Steve nodded. “Then does it really matter if you’re worthy?”

Steve looked at the god, his mind clicking slowly around the idea that perhaps his own morality didn’t matter. He tilted his head and regarded the hammer. “This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted purely for myself, and somehow that seems wrong.”

Loki stood, smoothing out his coat with a huffed laugh. “You’re talking to a man who has been politely described as a narcissistic megalomaniac. The only things I’ve ever really wanted were for myself. I learned that lesson young.” He looked Steve right in the eyes. “If you don’t want it for yourself, whatever ‘it’ is, no one else will want it for you.” Something sad fell behind Loki’s eyes though his face didn’t change. “No one will just give you what your heart desires, not when you’re giving them what they need. They’re thinking about themselves, not you. Sometimes, you have to just take it.”

The revelation settled like a rock in the pit of Steve’s stomach. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow it felt right. ‘Captain America’ served a purpose. He filled a hole that needed filling by someone and as long as he was there, they were going to take advantage of that.

He didn’t need to take over the world, as Loki had attempted, but he needed to take what he deserved before there was nothing left to have.

Before there was nothing left of him to enjoy it.

~*~

With each step through the Lehigh base he kept thinking one thought: this is too easy.

There were less guards, less people, than when he’d been here last, and theoretically, if he’d done things right, that should only have been less than a few minutes ago. He tried not to dwell on the knot settling in the base of his stomach as he swiftly moved to put back the tesseract.

He almost had it slid in nice and tight when the voice came over his shoulder. “Jarvis said he saw you. I thought the man was nuts, but he refused to leave.”

Steve let his head fall, his hands on the edge of the glowing box. “Howard…”

“I didn’t tell anyone, just cleared out the base.” Steve heard the soft footsteps as his former friend joined him. “Said I needed to run a dangerous experiment.”

Steve turned, taking in the tight and so much older face of his friend, unsure of what to say. Howard shoved his hands in his pockets but just continued. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly sure you’d come back, or if Jarvis had ever really seen you in the first place, but here you are, putting back something you stole from me. Without even a hello?” Howard laughed darkly, pointing at his suit. “You get tired of the red white and blue, or are you serving another nation now?”

Steve pressed his hands to his own chest, his head falling down and his eyes squeezing tight. “It’s a long, complicated story, Howard. And I don’t know how much I can really say.”

Howard shook his head, disappointed. “Can you tell me who that man was with you? The one who couldn’t even remember his own name?”

Steve couldn’t look at him, pain coursing through him at the loss of his friend. “No.”

Howard waited until Steve looked at him, cutting him close with the hurt in his voice, “Can you tell me why you never told me you were alive?”

Steve nodded. “That much I do owe you.”

Howard bobbed his head, really taking in the appearance of his friend for the first time. His eyes went wide as he looked at Steve and found the things he tried to not see before: the new lines along his eyes, the tightness of his jaw, the way the lines around his mouth had deepened that all signaled not only was this not a social call, but the man was not all that well. “Ok, well, I’ve got a bottle of scotch in my desk, that’ll have to suffice for me.” He tipped his head, “Let’s go.”

The hallways were deserted, and Steve lingered his eyes just a second too long on Peggy’s door, which had only blackness behind it.

Howard noticed. “I sent her home, too. She doesn’t know why and I’ll catch hell for it tomorrow.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. A few more steps and they were settled in Howards office, Steve on the almost comfortable chair across from Howard as he sat behind his desk, pouring out two tumblers of scotch. “So, can you tell me how I managed to look for you for years and here you are, waltzing into my facility and stealing the tesseract?” He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a hearty gulp. “Though, since you were putting it back, I guess you were just borrowing.”

Steve took the other tumbler from the table, holding it in his hands but not drinking. “I’m honestly not sure what I can or can’t say that doesn’t risk changing things.” Steve stopped, took a deep breath, and leaned forward. “But what the hell, right? If anyone’s going to understand this… will understand how important it is, it’s you, right?”

Howard shrugged, leaning back in his chair, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “There’s a good chance I’m your guy.”

Steve took a second, eyes lost in the whiskey. It wouldn’t do anything, but the idea of it somehow gave him courage all the more. He drank it like a shot, swallowing and putting his glass on the desk. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

Howard set his elbows on the desk, leaning over it, intensely curious. “How about at the beginning… How did you walk away from that plane crash? We looked for you for-“

“I didn’t,” Steve interrupted, solemn. “I spent almost 70 years in the ice.”

Howard sat up straight. “But you’re…”

Steve couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “I told you it was a long story.”

“That’s why you’re worried about changing things.” He leaned forward, hands in fists. “You managed to time travel?” Howard shook his head, his eyes glazing over as he thought. “Is that like a… normal thing in the future?”

“No,” Steve replied right away. “It was a last desperate attempt to…” he took a deep breath. “A lot of people had died, half of…” He took another breath, not really sure how to explain it all. “It was more than just our world at stake.”

Howard pushed back, eyes wide. “Other…planets?”

Steve smiled and nodded. “Yeah. The future was… interesting.”

Howard reached over and lifted the bottle of scotch, the liquid only half filling it. “We might need more than this…”

Steve laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. “For this story? Yeah.”

~*~

An hour later Howard was pacing the length of his office, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled from running his hands through it, and half a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Howard laughed and leaned back against his desk. “It’s a fucking mess is what it is.” Howard turned and put both hands on his desk. “I can’t believe it actually fucking worked.”

Steve felt guilty. He hadn’t mentioned Pym, not knowing exactly how the two were relating at the moment. He hadn’t named Tony, either, just called him ‘an inventor’ and later Iron Man and gave no indication to his friend that his son would end up dying to save humanity. But there were some things he wasn’t ready to risk ruining, some things he couldn’t quite yet face. “That’s… not the worst part.”

Howard turned his head, his eyebrows at his hairline as he looked at his friend. “There’s more?”

Steve looked at his folded hands, feeling guilty. “I want to stay.”

“Is that inherently a problem?” Howard searched his face, hoping for some hint. “You are, technically, more from this time than you are that one.”

“I… don’t know.” He sighed. “I was hoping you would.”

Howard sank in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “Like, if you stay, you become your own grandfather or something like that?”

“Well… not quite, but yeah.” Steve’s teeth were set on edge. Of all the people he knew, of all the people he’d asked about this, Howard would be the one to give it to him straight.

Howard tented his fingers, eyes un-focusing as he thought about the problem.

The phone rang and Howard ignored it, looking at his friend. After five shrill rings he lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, silencing it. “What did… what did the scientists who were helping you say about—” He was cut off again as the phone rang once more.  With a sigh Howard put it on speaker. “Hello?”

Jarvis’ anxious voice filled the room, startling Steve. “I’m sorry sir, but I couldn’t stop her without risking serious bodily harm.”

Howard’s face soured, “Stop who?”

The door behind Steve crashed open. “Howard you bloody wanker this is absolutely ridiculous. You ship me off for no reason when I have serious work to do. You’re not even doing an experiment are you? No, you’re drinking and—"

It was when she looked down that she got her first glimpse of him, and it ripped the words from her mouth.

He stood, slowly, and tried to smile, even though he could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. “Hi, Peg.”

Her breath caught and her mouth opened and closed for a moment before the only thing she could think to say fell from her lips. “You’re late.”

~*~

End Notes: To keep track, here are the five times: 1. Wanda 2. Pym/Bruce (Yes, they count as one, sue me) 3. The Ancient One 4. Loki 5. Howard. And the one time he didn’t was Red Skull. I don’t write this trope that often, so… yeah.

This was all written LONG before Loki came out. Just in light of all the silliness going around I felt like I needed to post, and hopefully some of you needed to read it.

Let’s keep fandom happy and enjoyable, friends.

[siberianoverture]

Don't You Know - 9

A/N: All mistakes are my own, if you happen to find them please let me know! If you want to be added to taglist let me know! Enjoy!

previous: CHAPTER 8

Bucky is angry when Sam drags him outside but knows it's for the best. The sun is hot on his skin and distracts him for a while before his mind is back to you, back to questioning what exactly your relationship was.

He's angry at himself, for snapping as he did, and he can feel Sam's disappointed gaze at him. He's eager to go back, apologize and talk with you, but knows he's the last person you need to see right now. At least you seem to trust Peter.

"Let's check on your goats," Sam beckons without usual humor in his voice and Bucky leads the way.

*

Peter holds you until you calm down and leads you to a couch in the back of the lab. Shuri appears with a glass of water you accept gratefully and down in one go.

"More?" Peter asks but you shake your head, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He looks really kind and really worried and a wave of gratefulness rushes over you. It's been decades since someone looked at you with such kindness.

"No, not yet," you finally answer and he stands up.

"We'll be right over there," he points to a table with various equipment in front of you and both of them walk over there. They start discussing something on holoscreen, but you pay them no mind, focused on your memories.

It's new, remembering and being allowed to actually think about your past, but the weight of all lives taken dampens your enthusiasm, even though you didn't do it of your own will. Or maybe you did, you kept coming back to Hydra, to the soldier with steel-blue eyes. You had so many chances to slip away from Hydra, to expose them and stop their violent rule but you kept coming back for The Soldier, the sliver of a chance of running away together keeping you tethered to him.

But you're free now, no one can take control of your actions, and you know you should be happy.

But you are not. You built a life for you and your Soldier behind Hydra’s backs, hid forged documents with new identities in different places, even bought a house on the hill over ocean blue as his eyes. All you had to do was run away.

Your only good memories are of your past you can’t go back to and those of long missions with The Soldier, having a clear idea of the directive, feeling safe by his side. You hated Hydra, but you didn't hate him. He was your rock there, even when he said those words, taking control from you. Now you're left with no Soldier and all those feelings. And he doesn't remember you.

This hurts too much, and you try to find comfort in the familiar feel of your gear, how the texture feels on your skin, but the anxiety floods you and every stitch seems to painfully dig into your flesh. You will yourself to calm down, it’s not the place nor the time to feel sorry for yourself.

Your mind goes back to you Soldier. They threw you to his feet after they gave you the serum and told him to train you. He did just that, but he didn't make you himself, he didn't make you into a killer machine, he taught you how to survive. All his lessons didn't feel like the ones you've been given by others. They made you into Hydra's weapon, he made sure you survived being one. He taught you how to be indispensable but his number one rule for you was to comply. He conditioned you to compliance not because he wanted you to serve Hydra, but because he didn't want you killed. They wanted him to make you a weapon, but he trained you to survive long enough so you could break out. He told you time and time again that he would get you out of there and when he was free, he left you there. You knew you couldn't blame him, but it didn't change that it hurt.

You stand up and move to sit on an empty chair on Peter's left side, even if you don't know what they're talking about, you still want to be close to them.

You were always close to The Soldier. The Soldier and The Spy. And now you were left with all your memories, of all your training, of all your missions, especially the longer ones where both your conditioning started to wear off and you would see the shadow of a man he was before, and you would talk to him about how maybe next time there would be a chance to escape.

Shuri looks at you for a while and from the look in her eyes you know she knows that soon you’ll be in the wind.

“You could stay,” she begins and Peter stops talking, but you interrupt her before she has the chance to offer you Wakanda’s protection.

“I could, and I promise I’ll be back if you’ll have me, but I don’t want to.” Peter looks confused and you’re sure he’ll be asking Shuri how you know each other, and you wonder what Shuri’s response will be, “I’m free of Hydra but if I don’t go and return the favor they’re owed, the S.H.I.E.L.D will be on my ass and it’s not wise to make enemies of the good guys.” Shuri doesn’t look convinced, “I’ve seen enough movies to know they always win.”

She smiles and turns back to the screen and Peter immediately begins his rant where he left off.

You look at Peter and Shuri, talking and laughing and you can almost feel the warmth of their friendship on your skin. At this moment you decide this is what you want. A friendship so deep others can feel its warmth.

*

Bucky and Sam come back to the lab when the sun starts to set and find Shuri and Peter tinkering with something and you sitting next to them with knees tucked under your chin, holding a small box of tools. Bucky thinks that if it wasn’t for your unruly hair and dirty uniform you'd look like their peer, not looking a day over eighteen.

You look up when the doors close with a click, put away the box, and walk to them. You approach Sam first.

"Sam Wilson. Hope you feel better," you shake his hand and nod.

"Thank you for getting me out of there." He doesn't answer, just gives you a nod as he moves to meet Peter behind you. You're left with who used to be your Soldier. You step closer to him and look up. Even his eyes changed, the steel-blue you're so used to now brighter, even bluer and they are eyes of a human, with habits, friends, and memories, not just mindless killing machine. He doesn't look away, lets you stare and take him in while he does the same. You wonder what he sees.

"I'm sorry. I'm really glad you got away, that you're free," you start, "I should've asked your name before blaming you," you bow your head slightly, "I'm sorry."

He's surprised but holds out his hand for you to shake.

"James Buchanan Barnes."

"James," you try it on your tongue, "I like it."

He wanted to tell you that his friends call him Bucky but the way you say his name renders him speechless.

"You look different than I remember."

"Good different or bad different?" He asks quietly and you raise your hand to reach to his hair. He stills and you take your hand back.

"Sorry, I used to tie your hair on missions," you look for any sign he remembers but you find none, "Good different. Happy. Alive."

You feel him watching you when you take his metal hand in yours. It feels so familiar but looks so different.

"This one protects people."

"The silver one protected me," you respond letting his hand fall by his side.

"I don't know who I was to you, and you'll tell me if you want," his flesh hand cups your face pulling it up so you're met with those blue eyes again. Is it worth telling him? Maybe you should just take the chance you've been given and start new, "But I will protect you. We've clearly been through different things and you're honestly handling it better than I did, but if you let me, I'll be by your side."

You lean into his hand and close your eyes at the warm feeling spreading through your body. You can almost pretend he knows you, that this isn't your first conversation for him.

The sudden thought that it’s not worth telling him takes you by surprise. You don’t want him to feel more guilty than he does. The less he knows of your joined past and the future you planned together the better.

You step out of his reach and decide to leave Wakanda before the dawn of the next day.

next: CHAPTER 10

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