#will this make it up for the angst yesterday

[amethystarachnid]

May I be so bold to ask for a fic?

PLATONIC Modern day reader gets sent back in time/ universe to the avengers.

Life is going as expected now that they have taken her in, yes even though she’s 21 in a Time were she supposed to be 10 years old is weird, you get used to it.

Imagine though it’s the middle of the battle of New York, all of a sudden JARVIS says you appear to be having a panic attack based on your vitals, and he cant see you due to the cameras on the floor being down.

Now everyone thinks this is a Tony kind of panic attack, so imagine the surprise when they see reader flying down in a half put together Ironman suit (boots chest gloves and helmet) swinging a metal baseball bat at some aliens with thunderstruck playing in the back.

Tony- “that’s my girl!!!”

Bonus if Tony from the future (when they all went back in time) sees the reader and just cry’s a little bit an still cheering goes “that’s my little girl”

I never see fics with people that are used to getting random panic attacks and are pretty good at handling it.

TIME TRAVELER

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, fluff, a little angst

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 8.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): time traveling, panic attack but well handled

ᯓ★ I really hope you like the story because I had some troubles understanding what you meant in your ask, but I tried my best and hope you like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You know something is wrong the moment you open your eyes.

You’re lying on your back, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, one that’s definitely not yours. Gone are the grey metal slabs and dusty air filters of the Avengers compound. In their place is something sleek, futuristic even, a ceiling lined with recessed lights and small silver vents, like it’s from a science fiction movie. The air smells new—no, it smells like money. It’s a rich, clean scent, faintly mixed with the lingering aroma of coffee and a trace of cologne.

You sit up, groggy, disoriented, the faint ache of too many sleepless nights reminding you that, yes, everything that happened—the Snap, the losses, the grief—all of that was real.

Or… was it?

No. You refuse to entertain the thought that you might’ve dreamed up a whole nightmare. But something is definitely wrong, because the last thing you remember is… being in the lab. You and the others had been there, going over the latest quantum research to get everyone back. And then—nothing. Just a sudden, blinding light and then… this place.

Panic grips you as you swing your legs off the bed and take a look around. The room itself is lavish. Glass walls line one side, letting sunlight stream in with an almost blinding intensity. Beyond the glass, you can make out the towering skyline of New York City in the daylight. Which, given the circumstances, feels strange enough—when’s the last time you saw anything but darkness or emergency lights back at the compound?

Trying to gather your thoughts, you push yourself to your feet, glancing down at your clothing. You’re dressed… strangely. Not in the clothes you put on yesterday, but a loose-fitting T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that don’t belong to you. You reach up, patting your hair, finding it slightly mussed, like you just woke up from a long, unplanned nap.

Your pulse quickens. Nothing about this makes sense.

A soft click behind you sends you whirling around, only to see the glass door to the room slide open. In strides Tony Stark—unmistakable with his confident swagger, his trademark Iron Man T-shirt, and a curious gleam in his eye. But it’s not the Tony Stark you’ve come to know in these last few years of grief and recovery, the one who’d been almost completely worn down by the fight to fix the world. No—this Tony looks younger, brighter, with sharper edges and that familiar arrogant smirk that makes your breath hitch.

He stops in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he gives you an appraising look. “So,” he says, drawing out the word, “you gonna explain why you were taking an unscheduled nap in one of my guest rooms?”

There’s no warmth, no familiarity in his tone. And why would there be? You realize, heart pounding, that this isn’t just any Tony Stark. This is 2012 Tony Stark.

You swallow, trying to keep the panic from spilling over. This is impossible. You’d read up on every theory, every bizarre scenario Doctor Strange and Bruce had briefed you on, but none of them involved anything like this.

“I… I think there’s been a mistake,” you manage to stammer, knowing just how lame it sounds, and yet not knowing what else to say.

“A mistake?” Tony raises an eyebrow, stepping fully into the room, hands on his hips. “Right. A mistake. So, just to clarify, you, a complete stranger, just happened to show up in my guest room, dressed in pajamas I definitely didn’t provide, as part of some cosmic mistake?”

You nod slowly, your throat dry as you search for words. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I mean, no. I mean… I don’t know.” You close your eyes, willing your brain to function. “The last thing I remember, I was in the Avengers compound, in 2023.”

“2023?” he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. “Okay, so now we’re time traveling. Makes total sense.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but his eyes are sharper than ever, scrutinizing every detail of you. “All right, let’s go with that. What’s your name, Miss 2023?”

You blink, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. You hadn’t expected the encounter to go this way—hadn’t even expected to have an encounter like this at all. “(Y/N),” you say finally. “My name is (Y/N).”

He gives a thoughtful nod. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N) from the future. I’m Tony Stark, but you already knew that.” He pauses, giving you a look that’s equal parts amused and wary. “So, mind telling me how you got here?”

“That’s… the thing,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know. I was working on some experiments with quantum mechanics, and there was this… flash of light, and then I was just here.” You glance around, realizing that it feels just as bizarre to you as it probably does to him. “And I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t think I’d end up here. Or end up… meeting you.”

The smirk fades from his face, replaced by something more guarded. “Quantum mechanics, huh?” He crosses his arms again, his expression growing serious. “Let’s pretend, just for fun, that what you’re saying is possible. That you somehow popped out of 2023, dodging all kinds of laws of physics, and ended up here. Which, by the way, happens to be 2012. Care to explain why?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, feeling more and more vulnerable with each word. “All I know is that something went wrong. The tech we were working with… it’s not fully stable yet. It could have triggered something, maybe even pulled me into some kind of anomaly.” You stop, trying to read his reaction, but he’s impossible to read, his face completely inscrutable.

“An anomaly,” he echoes, almost thoughtfully. For a second, his expression softens, like he’s trying to imagine what you’re describing, before he snaps back to his usual, unflappable self. “Well, (Y/N), welcome to the past. I’d offer you a drink, but something tells me you might not be in the mood.”

You exhale sharply, trying to resist the urge to pace. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t belong here. This is years before… before everything. Before the Battle of New York, before the Avengers Initiative really took off.” You pause, your eyes widening. “Wait, you haven’t… You haven’t even gone through that yet?”

“Not sure how much of my life you think you know,” he says, quirking an eyebrow, “but yeah, the big alien invasion hasn’t exactly been penciled into my calendar yet.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of your situation settle even heavier around you. This isn’t just a strange turn of events. You’re in a different reality, back in the days when the Avengers barely knew each other. Tony hasn’t even faced Loki yet; the wounds from that invasion haven’t left their mark on him.

“Tony, I… I think I’ve gone back in time,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Congratulations,” he says with a humorless chuckle. “Now, that’s a party trick I’d actually like to know about.”

As he studies you, his gaze sharpens, like he’s considering what to do with you. But then his phone buzzes, and he glances down at the screen, momentarily distracted. It’s just enough for you to get your bearings.

Taking a deep breath, you try to focus, to think of what Doctor Strange would say, what he might suggest in a situation like this. He always had a contingency plan—always had a way of approaching the impossible with a methodical mind.

“So,” Tony says, tucking his phone away and turning his attention back to you. “I take it you’ve got a rough idea of what happens next in my life?”

Your hesitation must be clear, because he holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking for spoilers. Just… let’s say, hypothetically, I’m not as skeptical as I’m letting on.”

It’s clear he’s testing you, trying to see if you’ll slip up, if you’ll give away some hidden detail about the future. You can almost see the wheels turning behind those dark, piercing eyes, and you’re caught between two urges—to convince him of the truth and to protect him from it. How much can you tell him? How much should you tell him?

“I know enough,” you answer cautiously. “Enough to know that this could be dangerous. And that I need to get back. I don’t belong here.”

“Well,” he says, gesturing around the room, “you’re here now. And if you’re really from the future, then there’s a reason for that. If you’ve got even a single thread of an idea of how to reverse this little slip through time, I’d suggest you hold onto it, because as far as I know, I don’t have any quick fixes for ‘accidental time travel.’”

He’s right, of course. No matter how much you might wish it, there’s no easy answer. And for the first time, you realize that you’re truly, utterly out of your depth. You’re in 2012. The Tony Stark you know isn’t quite this Tony Stark, and the Avengers are far from the team they eventually become.

But as you meet Tony’s gaze, you can’t help but feel a strange, almost unexplainable reassurance. This is Tony Stark, after all. The same man who built a suit of armor in a cave, who can adapt to anything life throws his way. If anyone’s going to help you figure this out, it’s him.

“All right, then,” you say softly, a hint of determination in your voice. “Let’s figure this out.”

And just like that, Tony Stark—the 2012 version, at least—gives you a faint, approving smirk.

“Well, time traveler,” he says, almost affectionately, “welcome to the club.”

Absolutely! Let’s continue this and dig deeper into the tension and awe of meeting the Avengers in their early days. Here’s the next section for you:

It doesn’t take long for Tony to inform Nick Fury of your strange arrival, though you’re not sure if he’s calling it in as an “emergency” or just sheer curiosity. By the next morning, Tony’s guiding you down a hallway of Stark Tower toward a conference room, giving you little more than a reassuring nod and a devilish smirk as he leads the way.

"Just be yourself,” he says with mock encouragement. “They’re all a bit paranoid, but we’ll work with it.”

The thought of meeting them—the Avengers, as they were in 2012—stirs something inside you, both excitement and dread. It’s impossible not to feel overwhelmed at the prospect of facing the familiar faces you know from the world after the Snap, but now stripped of the experiences and battles that hardened them. You remind yourself not to expect too much, to remember they’re different versions of themselves here—strangers, almost. As you take a deep breath to steady yourself, you can already hear Fury’s voice from down the hall, smooth and commanding.

Tony holds the door open for you, a smirk lingering on his lips. “After you, time traveler.”

You step inside, and Nick Fury’s one good eye pins you with a look so intense you feel almost frozen in place. Dressed in his black trench coat, with his signature eyepatch, Fury’s gaze alone is enough to confirm that he’s as imposing as ever. Standing around the room, waiting with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, are the other original Avengers: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Fury begins without preamble. “I don’t know who you are, where you came from, or what kind of science experiment brought you here. But Stark seems to think you’re worth our time, so I’ll give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Every gaze is trained on you, and suddenly, all the things you had been preparing to say feel like sand slipping through your fingers. You glance at Tony, who only offers you a shrug and a faintly amused smile. He’s enjoying this, clearly.

You clear your throat. “My name is (Y/N). And I’m… Well, I’m not exactly from here. I’m from a different time. The year 2023, to be exact.”

There’s a palpable tension in the room as you speak, each Avenger processing your words in their own way. You can feel Steve Rogers watching you, eyes sharp and calculating as he assesses you, while Natasha leans back in her chair, a faint smirk playing on her lips, more curious than suspicious.

Bruce steps forward cautiously. “You’re from the future?”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of their disbelief. “It wasn’t intentional, believe me. I was working on a project with… well, with Tony and some of the others. Something must have gone wrong, because the next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Time travel,” Clint scoffs, crossing his arms as he narrows his eyes at you. “Sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.”

“It does,” you agree. “Believe me, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to start my week either.”

Fury’s brow furrows as he studies you intently. “If what you’re saying is true, you know things about the future. Events. People.”

There’s a pause. You know the answer he’s looking for, and you’re prepared to give it. But the thought of revealing too much, of saying the wrong thing… You don’t know what kind of impact it could have, and even in 2023, people warned against messing with the timeline. Doctor Strange had made it clear that even the smallest shifts could ripple outwards in unpredictable ways.

“I… I can’t say too much,” you admit, feeling the weight of everyone’s scrutiny. “I know things, yes, but if I start talking about specifics, I don’t know what kind of consequences that might have. I don’t want to risk changing anything important.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, arms folded, her expression skeptical. “So you’re from the future, you can’t tell us anything about it, and we’re supposed to just… believe you?”

Tony, watching the exchange with keen interest, cuts in, “Hey, I’m the skeptic in the room here, and even I think there’s something to this. She knows about things she shouldn’t. Things no one outside of SHIELD should even have access to.”

Fury nods, turning back to you. “So why don’t you give us something harmless? Something to prove you’re telling the truth that won’t mess with the timeline.”

You pause, your mind racing. There’s one thing that comes to mind—a detail that should be inconsequential enough, but that would be enough to convince them of your legitimacy.

“All right,” you say slowly, looking at Fury. “You have a hidden eye scanner behind the painting in your office that only recognizes you, Maria Hill, and Director Pierce.”

Fury’s face hardens, a flicker of surprise passing over his expression. For the first time, he seems truly convinced. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen it,” you say quietly. “I’ve been in your office more times than I can count.”

Silence settles over the room as they process this revelation. Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint, while Bruce looks at you with newfound curiosity, the scientist in him piqued.

Steve steps forward, his voice softer, more open than the others. “If you’re from the future, then… that means you know what’s coming. Are we in danger?”

It’s a loaded question, one that instantly makes your throat tighten. The instinct to tell him everything—the invasion, the battles, the losses—is overwhelming. But you’ve been trained for situations like this, for protecting information even if it’s difficult.

“Yes,” you say carefully, meeting his gaze. “But you’re strong enough to face it. All of you.”

Steve nods, his jaw set, seeming satisfied with your answer even if it’s not as detailed as he might like. There’s a resilience in him, even at this early stage, that feels like a warm thread connecting this version of Steve to the man you know from the future.

Fury, however, doesn’t seem quite as content. He steps closer, crossing his arms as he looks you over. “I hope you understand the situation you’re in, Miss…?”

“(Y/N),” you repeat, your tone respectful but firm. “And yes, I do.”

“Good. Because as long as you’re here, you’re going to be under SHIELD’s supervision. You’re a risk, whether you mean to be or not.”

“Understood.”

“Then we’ll get you set up with temporary accommodations,” he says, his tone all business. He nods to the group. “Everyone, I want you to keep an eye on our visitor. See what you can learn. And if she can help, even better.”

The meeting disperses, the Avengers filing out one by one. You can feel their eyes on you, some friendly, others more reserved. Bruce, though cautious, gives you a faint nod before leaving. Steve, always the gentleman, offers a polite smile, though you can see the curiosity and concern in his gaze. Natasha and Clint exchange a look before walking out, their silent communication something you recognize instantly; you’ve seen them do this a thousand times in the future.

As the last of them leave, Tony’s still lingering by the door, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed as he watches you with a mixture of intrigue and something else—an awareness, maybe, that he knows more about you than the others.

When the room finally empties, you let out a long breath, shoulders slumping as the tension eases. Tony steps back inside, glancing around before giving you a lopsided grin. “Well, you survived your first interrogation. Not bad for a time traveler.”

You manage a weak smile. “It could’ve gone worse, I guess.”

“Could’ve gone a lot worse,” he agrees. “For what it’s worth, you did pretty well back there. Kept things vague enough to avoid causing a paradox or whatever, but gave them just enough to work with.”

You nod, biting back the urge to spill everything right then and there. The urge to confide in him—to tell him everything you know about the future, about how he changes, how he sacrifices so much—is almost unbearable. But the thought of how much damage you could cause keeps you silent.

Tony seems to sense the turmoil behind your eyes, because he rests a hand on your shoulder, the touch surprisingly grounding. “Look, I’m no expert in whatever quantum mechanics or time travel theory you’ve got going on, but I can tell when someone’s carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.”

You glance up at him, startled by the gentleness in his voice. “I just… I don’t want to mess anything up,” you confess. “You all have so much ahead of you. So much you’re going to accomplish, and I don’t want to take that from you.”

He gives you a long, searching look, the cocky demeanor fading as he considers your words. “Then don’t. Just take it one day at a time. Hell, take it one minute at a time. You don’t have to carry the whole future on your shoulders, okay?”

There’s something about the way he says it that fills you with a small, fragile hope. You nod, finding strength in his words. For now, you’ll follow his advice—take it

slow, one minute at a time. Because the Avengers here in 2012 are still in their early days, still unscarred by the battles that lie ahead. And as long as you’re here, you’ll do everything in your power to protect that future without changing it.

Together, you and Tony leave the conference room, each step carrying you deeper into a past you know too well yet can’t afford to let yourself alter. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one thing is clear: with Tony by your side, you just might have a chance to figure this out.

Over the next few days, you start to settle in among the 2012 Avengers, trying to adjust to the surreal reality of getting to know them as strangers. They’re cautious, skeptical, yet undeniably intrigued by you and your claim to be from the future. You try to be as helpful as you can without tipping off the events that lie ahead, slowly building their trust by sharing bits of innocuous information—small things that don’t seem significant enough to impact the timeline but reveal just enough to confirm you’re telling the truth.

Steve is the first to approach you, polite but with his guard up, as he invites you to join him in the gym. You recognize the familiar tension in his shoulders as he goes through his training routine, movements precise and controlled.

“So,” he starts, without looking at you. “You seem to know quite a lot about us. Or, at least, about who we’ll become.” He catches the punching bag on its swing back, steadying it with a quick, efficient grip. “Care to share a few details?”

You think carefully, picking a memory you know won’t alter his future. “You and I fought together a lot, actually,” you say, smiling. “And it was an honor. You’re one of the best fighters I know.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, surprised, but there’s a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Coming from someone trained by Stark, that means something.”

“Actually,” you correct, a hint of laughter escaping, “you trained me, too. When I joined the team in the future, you helped me with my technique. You insisted on it.”

He seems pleased by this, nodding thoughtfully. “Guess that makes sense.” He pauses, looking down. “Good to know I’m still around in the future.”

The words catch you off guard, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. You’re… very important to all of us.”

He gives a small, appreciative nod, not pressing for more. Trust forms slowly between you two as he begins to open up, sharing some of his own hesitations about being part of the Avengers. It’s subtle, almost shy—the beginning of a mutual understanding that grows from small gestures and quiet support.

It’s Natasha who finds you next, joining you in the kitchen as you’re grabbing a snack. Clint follows soon after, leaning casually against the counter with an appraising look.

“So, future girl,” Clint says, popping a grape in his mouth. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Natasha, sitting across from you, is more direct. “If you can’t tell us everything, then tell us one harmless thing about me and Clint. Something that won’t change anything.”

You think about it, wondering what would be safe to share. Then you recall something small, a tiny detail from the future that has no bearing on any grand event but makes you smile.

“All right. You two like to compete over who can pull off the crazier stunt in the field,” you say, grinning. “It’s… kind of legendary, actually.”

Clint chuckles, leaning back. “Legendary? You hear that, Nat? We’re legends.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint hint of a smile on her lips. “Legendary, huh? So, who usually wins?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you do, of course.”

Clint throws his hands up, feigning outrage. “What? I’m pretty sure I would win that fight.”

Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, but you can see the amusement flickering in her eyes as she watches you. For the first time, there’s a hint of trust and warmth there, a softness that she usually keeps hidden. It’s a small moment, but one that feels like progress.

Bruce is one of the quieter members of the team, and for days he keeps his distance, observing you with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He’s naturally cautious, and you can tell he’s wrestling with a thousand questions.

It’s not until you’re alone in the lab, tinkering with some outdated equipment, that he finally approaches.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he begins, pushing his glasses up as he studies you. “In the future, do I… do I get a handle on things? On myself?”

You hesitate, knowing exactly what he means. In 2023, Bruce has indeed found balance, integrating his two selves into what he calls “Professor Hulk.” But you’re not sure if it’s wise to tell him something so significant. You decide to keep it vague, focusing on the reassurance he seems to need.

“You make peace with yourself, Bruce,” you say softly, offering him a warm smile. “You become… someone incredible. And the world is better for it.”

His shoulders relax, and he seems to breathe a little easier. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes it’s… hard to imagine things ever being different.”

“They will be,” you assure him, your voice filled with certainty. “Trust me.”

From that day on, Bruce seems more at ease around you, and he even starts inviting you to join him in the lab, talking to you about theories and experiments in ways that remind you of the future you left behind.

After a week of cautiously earning the team’s trust, Tony decides to host an impromptu “team bonding” night in his penthouse—a sort of welcome-to-the-past celebration for you. The others show up, mingling and relaxing, and as you watch them, the differences between these younger Avengers and the versions you know in the future become all the more apparent.

Steve still holds himself a little apart from the group, clearly unused to being surrounded by people who look to him for leadership. Natasha’s edges are sharper, her eyes always watchful, as if she’s waiting for the next mission. Clint is easygoing but guarded, wary of anyone outside his tight circle. Bruce is quieter, more reserved, his mind constantly turning over unspoken questions, while Tony… Tony is, in some ways, exactly the same, though his arrogance feels almost untested, his confidence still untempered by the battles that await him.

At some point in the evening, Clint challenges you to a game of darts, while Natasha observes from the side with her usual unshakable calm. Clint’s sharp eyes and steady hand give him the advantage, but you manage to keep up, hitting the bullseye once or twice.

“Not bad,” Clint says, grudgingly impressed. “Maybe you’re not all talk.”

“Oh, I’m definitely all talk,” you joke, smiling as Natasha chuckles softly beside you.

Steve and Bruce, seated across the room, are deep in conversation, and Tony—well, he’s regaling the group with his latest plans for Stark Tower, gesturing wildly as he describes his latest tech upgrade ideas.

Seeing them all together like this, young and full of potential, is a strange experience. It’s almost bittersweet, knowing what lies ahead for each of them and yet realizing they have no idea. You hold back the memories, keeping your face neutral, not wanting to give anything away.

But at some point, Steve catches your eye from across the room, and he gestures for you to join him. As you approach, he shifts uncomfortably, clearly thinking through something serious.

“You seem to know us… really well,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “But we hardly know anything about you.”

The others fall silent, turning their attention to you. The question isn’t exactly unexpected, but it catches you off guard nonetheless. What can you say to them that won’t give away too much, that won’t ruin the innocence they have here?

“Well,” you begin, choosing your words carefully, “I joined the Avengers because I wanted to help. You all inspired me. You made me feel like… like the world was worth saving.”

Steve seems touched by this, and you can see a faint sense of pride and surprise in his expression.

“It’s strange,” Bruce says, smiling faintly. “Thinking of ourselves as… inspirations.”

“You are,” you assure them. “All of you. I can’t say much, but… the Avengers become something big. You make a difference. And even when things get hard, you never give up. None of you.”

Tony raises his glass, flashing you that familiar, playful grin. “Here’s to being legendary, then,” he declares, and the others lift their glasses in a quiet toast.

As they take their sips, you feel the weight of your secret settle back on your shoulders. You know you’ll need to leave someday, that the version of you who fought beside the Avengers in 2023 belongs to a different time. But for now, here in this moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can make things a little better.

Trust builds gradually, each Avenger letting you in a little more each day. Clint eventually invites you to join him and Natasha for target practice, jokingly betting on whether you can keep up. Bruce starts consulting you on his experiments, asking for your advice with a respect you never thought possible from the reticent scientist. Steve includes you in his training routines, guiding you with gentle patience, his easy confidence growing every day. And Tony—well, Tony becomes a constant companion, checking in on you, teasing you, always eager to draw out your knowledge of the future without pushing too far.

The team is becoming something more than just an assignment or a mission. They’re becoming your friends.

One day, when the group gathers in the common room, Steve suggests sparring matches as a team-bonding exercise. Clint and Natasha go first, their movements sharp and perfectly

in sync, and the others watch, laughing and cheering as the pair battle it out. As you join in the fun, you catch Tony’s eye, and he gives you an approving nod.

Thor arrives with all the grandeur you remember: the flash of lightning, the distant rumble of thunder, and his booming voice filling Stark Tower as he greets the team. The others seem mostly unfazed, having grown accustomed to their Asgardian ally’s dramatic entrances, but you can’t help the flood of memories that come rushing back. Here he is—the same Thor you know from 2023, yet younger, less tempered by the losses and battles he’ll face. The unshakeable pride, the wide-eyed enthusiasm for Midgard—it’s all there, untouched by the trials that lie ahead.

He strides into the room, his golden armor gleaming, the red cape flaring behind him, and, of course, Mjolnir in his grip. Thor’s blue eyes twinkle with mischief and curiosity as they land on you, and his deep voice carries an unmistakable warmth.

“And who might you be?” he booms, glancing at Tony and raising an eyebrow.

“This,” Tony says, stepping forward with a half-smile, “is our new resident time traveler. She’s from the future, knows a few things, but she’s under strict instructions not to mess with any timelines.”

You manage a smile, offering Thor a small wave. “Hi, Thor. It’s… nice to see you.”

He steps closer, giving you a curious look. “You know me, then?”

“Oh, yes,” you say, trying not to give too much away. “I know you very well. You’re… quite the hero where I come from.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “A hero, indeed! Well, I am glad to hear that even in the future, the people of Midgard recognize greatness!” His laugh echoes through the room, and he claps Tony on the shoulder. “And Stark, I trust you are as impressive in the future as you are now?”

“Oh, I’m impressive,” Tony replies, flashing a grin, though you catch a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. You know Tony doesn’t like to talk about the future, especially when it comes to his own destiny.

It doesn’t take long for the team to settle back into their routines with Thor joining them, and that night, Tony and Thor chat quietly in the common area. Tony seems relaxed, yet there’s a quiet intensity to his gaze whenever he glances at you. You’ve noticed it more and more over the past few days—the way Tony’s curiosity has shifted into something more protective, like he’s trying to read between the lines of everything you say, preparing himself for the worst, even if he’s pretending not to.

Later, after most of the team has dispersed, Tony approaches you, hands in his pockets, his expression pensive.

“You know,” he says softly, “Thor’s arrival means that Loki isn’t far behind. The whole reason he comes to Earth right now is… well, because of the Tesseract.” He leans in, his voice low. “The Battle of New York, right? That’s coming up?”

You nod, feeling the familiar pang of helplessness. “Yeah. It’s… it’s coming soon.”

He watches you carefully, something searching in his gaze. “And you can’t say anything that would help us?”

The question hangs in the air, both of you understanding the weight of it. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tony. I wish I could. But if I do, I risk changing everything that’s supposed to happen.”

Tony’s face is unreadable, but there’s a hint of frustration there, a simmering anger he’s clearly holding back. “So, what are you supposed to do then? Just… stand by and watch us walk into a war without warning?”

You feel his words like a punch to the gut. You hate this part—the helplessness, the burden of knowing exactly how things are going to unfold and being powerless to stop it. But you also know what’s at stake if you interfere.

“Yes,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t change anything, Tony. Even if it hurts to stand by and watch, even if I wish I could do more.”

His expression softens slightly, and he steps closer. “I get it,” he says quietly. “And I know this whole ‘not changing the future’ thing is supposed to be important. But I’m telling you now, if you ever need to tell me something, I’ll listen. No questions, no judgment.”

You nod, managing a weak smile. “Thanks, Tony. That… that means a lot.”

He hesitates, then places a hand on your shoulder, a rare moment of gentleness that sends warmth through you. “Look, I don’t know who I am in the future, but here, now, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to keep us alive.” He drops his hand, giving you a small smirk. “That includes you, time traveler.”

You smile back, heart pounding. “I’ll do what I can to keep you safe too, Tony. Even if I can’t change things.”

The Night Before the Battle

As the days pass, tension begins to settle over the team. The warnings they’ve received from SHIELD, the unusual activity around the Tesseract—all of it points to something big on the horizon. You can feel the weight of the coming battle pressing down on you like a storm cloud, and while the others prepare, you feel like a ghost, wandering the Tower’s halls, struggling with the knowledge you carry.

That night, Tony finds you on the rooftop, staring out over the New York skyline. The city lights twinkle beneath the stars, oblivious to the danger that’s soon to come. Tony approaches quietly, his presence grounding.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “You know, you spend a lot of time up here, brooding.”

You smile weakly. “It’s hard not to when… I know what’s coming.”

He leans against the railing beside you, crossing his arms. “I don’t blame you. But I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says, his voice softening. “Even though you can’t say anything, you’ve helped us. You’ve helped me. Just knowing you’re here… it gives me this weird feeling that we’re gonna make it through this.”

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I wish I could do more. But… knowing you’re here, Tony—it helps me too. You’ve always found a way to keep everyone together, to find solutions, even when things seemed hopeless.”

He looks at you, surprise flickering across his face, followed by something softer. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you reply, voice steady. “More than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you stand there in silence, the distant hum of the city below filling the night air. Then, Tony turns to face you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, if this is our last night before everything goes sideways, I say we make it count.” He offers his hand. “Come on. Let’s go raid the stash of champagne in my suite. I may be a genius, but I’m also a pretty decent bartender.”

You laugh, taking his hand as he leads you inside. Together, you head up to his penthouse, and soon, you’re seated on his plush couch, sipping champagne and trading stories. He talks about his early years at Stark Industries, the crazy nights and the high-stakes projects, and you share some of the most lighthearted moments you’ve had with the team in the future—moments that won’t give anything away but capture the heart of what the Avengers are.

“Sounds like we’re not half-bad in the future,” Tony says, grinning as he refills your glass.

“You’re more than not half-bad,” you reply, laughing. “You’re legends.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his drink. “You know, I never thought I’d have a legacy. Not really. I figured I’d make a bunch of tech, sell it off, and that’d be it. But hearing you talk about the future… it’s weird, but for the first time, I kind of want to be there to see it.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re going to do incredible things, Tony. You have no idea how much you’ll mean to all of us.”

He meets your gaze, his expression softening, and for a moment, there’s a quiet intensity between you—a feeling of connection that goes beyond time, beyond the secrets you’re forced to keep. You don’t have to tell him everything to let him know how much he matters, not just to the future, but to you.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around then,” he says, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “For you, and for… whoever I become.”

You smile, heart pounding, and you squeeze his arm gently. “I’m glad.”

In the quiet that follows, he reaches over, clinking his glass against yours. “To the future,” he says softly, his voice filled with a determination that’s almost heartbreaking.

You raise your glass, fighting the emotions rising in your chest. “To the future.”

The morning dawns heavy, and as the team gathers, the tension is palpable. You stand on the sidelines, watching each of them prepare, the reality of what’s about to happen pressing down on you. Tony catches your eye before he puts on the suit, his gaze steady and reassuring. He doesn’t have to say anything—you already know.

“See you on the other side,” he says, voice muffled by the suit’s mask as he flashes you a confident grin.

You watch him go, your heart aching with a strange mix of pride and fear. There’s no guarantee that things will unfold exactly as you remember, but for now, you have faith. The Avengers are ready. And so are you.

The dust of the battle hasn’t even settled, but after capturing Loki, the team allows themselves a small moment of relief. As the Avengers regroup, Thor stands guard over Loki with a mixture of grim satisfaction and frustration, while Natasha and Clint exchange relieved nods. Steve is already eyeing the damaged buildings, making plans for containment and crowd control.

Tony, however, is still pacing, his gaze flicking to the holographic interface in front of him. He watches JARVIS’s live feed, examining damage reports, crowd dispersal, and tracking the few remaining Chitauri soldiers scattered through the city.

That’s when JARVIS’s calm voice cuts through. “Sir, I must alert you that Y/N’s vitals are highly irregular. Her heart rate and breathing pattern suggest she may be experiencing a panic attack.”

Tony’s brow furrows, worry creeping onto his face. “Where is she?”

“She was last located on the floor directly below you, but the security cameras on that floor are currently offline due to structural damage. I’m unable to locate her visually.”

A pang of alarm runs through Tony, and it catches the attention of the rest of the team. Natasha and Steve share a concerned look, Clint straightens, and even Thor’s expression shifts from watchful to worried.

“A panic attack?” Clint asks, confused. “I thought panic attacks were Tony’s thing.”

“Hey!” Tony snaps, but it lacks his usual edge. There’s a flicker of anxiety in his expression, and he’s already reaching for his comm. “Y/N? Can you hear me? If you’re there, talk to me.”

Silence.

He feels a sinking dread building in his stomach, and he exchanges a glance with Steve, who nods, immediately stepping forward. “Tony, do you want backup?” Steve asks.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I’ll find her. Just… keep Loki locked down, all right? We don’t want him getting any ideas while we’re distracted.”

With that, Tony heads down a damaged stairwell, calling JARVIS’s name and reactivating every broken camera he can find. After what feels like an agonizingly long few seconds, he finally picks up a faint, distorted signal from one of the lower floors.

And then he hears it—a deep, mechanical thud that echoes through the empty floor below. He rushes down the last few steps and stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the corridor.

At the far end of the hall, there’s Y/N… only she’s barely recognizable. She’s suited up in what looks like Tony’s Iron Man armor, or rather, parts of the armor—a strange, improvised mix of boots, a chest plate, gauntlets, and a helmet. Her arms and legs are half-exposed in her torn battle gear, and in one hand, she’s gripping a metal baseball bat, the metal shining under the harsh emergency lights.

Tony takes a stunned step forward as Y/N raises the bat with all her might, swinging it into a remaining Chitauri soldier, sending it flying back with a satisfying crash. The alien hits the wall hard, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a ferocity in her movements that he’s never seen before—raw, desperate, and relentless. She stumbles forward, chest heaving, breath heavy and erratic over the helmet’s comm system as she swings again and again, knocking down every remaining Chitauri that crosses her path.

The rest of the team arrives behind Tony, and they all freeze at the sight. Steve’s eyes widen, Clint’s mouth drops open, and Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking impressed.

“Is she… is she wearing your suit?” Steve finally asks, his tone equal parts confusion and awe.

Tony doesn’t answer, too busy staring. She’s moving erratically, swaying slightly, her movements sharper and more frantic than he’s ever seen from her. There’s no precision, no strategy—just sheer, brutal determination as she takes down the last of the Chitauri.

And then, as the dust settles, her chest heaves as she drops the bat to the ground with a clang, her breathing audible even through the helmet. Tony steps forward slowly, cautious, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N,” he calls softly, “you okay in there?”

For a moment, she doesn’t respond. The helmet dips, as if she’s looking down at herself in disbelief. When she finally speaks, her voice crackles through the helmet, shaky and breathless.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna… you wanna take that thing off?”

The silence stretches, and then, with a trembling hand, she reaches up, disengaging the helmet. It slides off, revealing her face, pale and streaked with dirt and sweat. Her eyes are wide, glassy with fear, and there’s a tremor in her hand that she can’t quite control.

“I—I couldn’t find any of you,” she whispers, her voice catching. “And I just… I saw them down here, and I couldn’t—”

Tony steps closer, his expression softening. “Hey, hey. You did good. You took them out. You’re safe, okay?”

Her breaths come fast and shallow, and he realizes she’s still in the grip of panic, her body trembling in the remnants of adrenaline and fear. He reaches out, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “Y/N, you’re okay now. Just breathe with me, all right?”

She nods, her breaths starting to slow, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There’s a vulnerability there, a rawness that cuts right through him. She looks like she’s holding back a flood of emotion, and his heart tightens.

One by one, the others approach, keeping a respectful distance but offering her reassuring nods. Steve steps forward, placing a steady hand on her other shoulder, his gaze warm and reassuring.

“We’re here,” he says, his voice steady. “You didn’t have to do this alone.”

The reassurance seems to break something inside her, and she lets out a shaky laugh, wiping at her face. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?” she murmurs, trying to steady herself.

Tony raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Just a little. Though I gotta say, you wear that suit well. Never thought I’d see you flying down here with a bat and half my armor.”

Her cheeks flush, and she lets out a self-conscious chuckle. “I just grabbed whatever was closest. I couldn’t… I didn’t want any of you to get hurt. I had to help somehow.”

Clint, watching with a mix of amazement and amusement, crosses his arms, grinning. “If I’d known you had this side in you, I’d have handed you a bat weeks ago.”

Natasha steps up beside Clint, nodding approvingly. “It takes guts to throw yourself into a fight like that. Especially alone.”

Y/N looks at each of them, her expression a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. She shakes her head, glancing back at Tony. “Guess I still have a few things to learn about… not panicking under pressure.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes as he meets her gaze. “Trust me,” he says, “you’re not the only one who freaks out when things get intense. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re not alone here. And next time? You don’t have to handle it by yourself. Got it?”

She nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “Got it.”

As the team disperses, Tony stays with her a moment longer, studying her carefully. “You know,” he says quietly, his tone softer than usual, “I can upgrade that baseball bat if you’re thinking of making this a regular thing.”

She laughs, a real, genuine laugh this time. “I’ll keep that in mind. But maybe I’ll leave the suits to you next time.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, grinning. He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “Hey… don’t feel bad about what happened, okay? You stepped up. You saved us a lot of trouble back there.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation, but she nods, a shy smile appearing. “Thanks, Tony. For… everything.”

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his gaze soft. “Anytime. Now let’s get you out of that armor before you short-circuit it.”

With a grateful smile, she follows him, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. For the first time since arriving in this unfamiliar past, she feels a sense of belonging, knowing that these people—the Avengers, her friends—will always have her back, just as she has theirs.

Unbeknownst to you, or to the Avengers around you, just a few blocks away, a much older Tony Stark is crouched in the shadows with Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner, their eyes fixed on the commotion unfolding at Stark Tower. They’ve come to 2012 to retrieve the Tesseract—an essential part of their mission to save the future. Their objective is clear: get in, grab the Tesseract, and get out without causing any disruptions. But when Tony’s gaze catches sight of the familiar figure in half of his old suit, wielding a bat and going after stray Chitauri with a fierce determination, he freezes, completely taken off guard.

Steve glances at him. “What’s wrong, Stark?”

Tony’s eyes are glued to you, his expression softening as he watches you clobber a Chitauri, then brace yourself as the helmet’s targeting HUD helps you line up your next swing. “I… didn’t expect this,” he murmurs, voice filled with awe and something closer to pride than Steve has ever heard from him.

Bruce follows Tony’s gaze and frowns in confusion. “Wait—is that… Y/N? But that can’t be right. She wouldn’t be here. This isn’t even her timeline.”

“Oh, it’s her,” Tony whispers, his voice choked with both joy and heartbreak. He can’t help but let a small grin sneak onto his face, one that shows just how much he cares for you and just how proud he is. “That’s my little girl.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he watches Tony’s face, lit up with admiration and bittersweet nostalgia. “Tony, you know the rules. We can’t interfere.”

“I know,” Tony says, the reality settling over him like a lead weight. “But look at her.” He nods toward you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got guts. Always has. I knew she’d be a fighter.”

Steve watches you for a moment, then gives Tony a small, supportive nod. “She’s in good hands. You saw her out there—she’s fighting with the team, and you know this version of you will keep an eye on her.”

“I know,” Tony murmurs, his eyes never leaving you. For a moment, he loses himself in the scene—watching you alongside his younger self, surrounded by the team, all of you laughing and joking after the battle. He swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. It’s like looking through a window into a different time, one where he could just stand there and watch over you, make sure you were safe.

The younger Tony steps forward in the armor, calling out a comment that makes you laugh, a real, bright laugh that reaches even the ears of the time-traveling Tony hidden in the shadows. He can see how his younger self leans forward, his eyes full of quiet care as he reassures you, and Tony’s heart swells with pride and longing.

“She’s tougher than I realized,” Bruce says with a small, approving smile, giving Tony a reassuring nudge. “She’ll be all right, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, she will,” Tony says, nodding to himself, though there’s a tightness in his voice that betrays the mix of joy and sorrow swirling inside him. He may not be able to approach you now, to tell you how proud he is, but he can watch you from the shadows just this once, a silent guardian, letting himself soak in the sight of you alive and well, even if it’s in a past that isn’t his.

He clears his throat, steeling himself, reminding himself of the mission. “All right, guys. Let’s get the Tesseract and get out of here,” he says, but his voice is softer, less biting than usual. “I’ll… I’ll be back soon, anyway. To the right timeline.”

As he and the others move to leave, Tony sneaks one last look over his shoulder. You’re taking a deep breath, looking around at your team with a smile that’s just a little shy, a little amazed, as if you’re still surprised that you belong here. His heart aches with pride, and his voice is barely a whisper as he says, “That’s my girl. Stay safe.”

With that, he turns and follows Steve and Bruce, his heart a little heavier but his soul a little lighter, knowing that, even if he can’t protect you directly, he’s left you in good hands: his own hands, in a way. It’s enough, for now.

I don't know if I'm really satisfied with this...I just hope that whoever requested it likes it!

[shittyjakeenglish]

Day 173

postcanon/epilogues. oh hes? hes not okay is he??

[autisticlalna]

where did Wanderer get that clock from, do you think?

[psychotic-nonsense]

Steddie Week Day 4: Trade / Body swap

------- it starts off super rough, warning for suicidal thoughts/intent and brief descriptions of gore -------

Steve is going to die.

He went to his room for privacy. His thoughts have gotten so loud lately, headaches so deep he can hardly see, and he just needed a moment to breathe.

But then he went to sit on his bed, and fell straight through it into the Upside Down.

Panicked, Steve had scrambled to get up. A hand had reached down to help, and without thinking, he grabed it.

Then he recoiled with how cold and rotten it felt. He looked up to face its owner, and was met with Barbara Holland. Half eaten, swollen faced, glossy eyed, dead Barbara.

When he tried to crawl away from her, two hands reached down to forcefully haul him up from the ground. Hands that were soaking wet, filling the thick air with an equally suffocating metallic stench. As soon as Steve regained his footing, he whirled around and backed away from the moving corpses.

It's Billy Hargrove. Bloody, beaten, black veined Hargrove, skinny from the chunks taken out of his torso and swaying with the imbalance of it.

They began speaking, bemoaning in their haunting voices how he let them die and left them to rot, Steve the Hero running like the true coward he was. The forest came alive with the chittering of Demobats, underneath it all an unrelenting mantra. I told you to make him pay, why did I have to pay in his stead, you didn't even kill him, you lost you lost you lost and I died for nothing-

And Steve didn't hear anymore. Because he ran.

He's being Cursed, no one knows it, and he's going to die.

No matter how far he runs, the forest gets no smaller, the calls of animal and ghost alike getting no quieter. He strains, runs though he can't breathe, crying out for help. But all that does is worsen the voices. Calling him a failure, selfish, why does he get to live, why did they have to die-

Steve loses his footing. Skids forward over the rough ground further than he should, unable to stop. Then his feet fall over a sudden ledge and he isn't slowing down and his clawing hands are barely able to catch a stray hanging branch before he's dangling over a cliffside.

His breaths are heaving, and his hands tense hard to keep hold of the branch. He knows he shouldn't but the creature sounds have only gotten louder, so he looks down.

Hundreds of feet down it's a rolling mess of black vines, dark smoke, and demo-creatures. They're all lunging for him, their snarls and screeches mixing with the ghostly moans, urging him to just give in submit fall.

A sudden crack breaks through the mess of sound. Steve turns back around, sees the rock holding up his branch begin to splinter, and he's going to die.

In between his desperate panting, words fall out. Words he means that no one who matters will ever hear. "I'm-I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Dustin, Nancy... R-Robin, Barb, Hargrove... I should- should've been more... I'm sorry, I can't-" He's cracking, the last of his desperation crumbling with the further breaks in the rocks. "I can't do it, I'm not... I'm not Max- Max, I'm sorry..." And as the cracks grow and his fingers slip, the tears finally fall. "I'm s-sorry, Ed... Eddie, I'm so sorry... It should've been me..."

And at the same time the crack finishes its journey, Steve lets go.

Everything quiets. Everything goes slow. It's almost freeing, knowing it's all going to be over, even though the terrified faces of his family flash through his head with every tear that falls. He doesn't want it to be over, he wants to live... but what right does he have-

Someone's calling out his name. A voice that gets his eyes to open, shocked at the blatant fear and desperation in it. Someone's falling right behind him, before him, reaching out for him.

Eddie. Eddie Munson. With all the same terror and need and pleading eyes that Steve remembers.

Steve automatically reaches back, shock urging him to beg just once more, somehow catching Eddie's hand. Immediately, he's crushed to Eddie's chest. Arms hold him tight, hands clenching hard at Steve's clothes.

Eddie feels real. Breathes and sobs like he's real. Warmth pulses through his clothes like he's real. Each brush of skin feels solid and soft and desperate and real.

So Steve holds him back. Tight, desperate to not lose him in their fall, no matter how real this may be. Shoves his face into Eddie's shoulder and closes his eyes and feels.

At least he won't go alone... At least in the end, he's not alone...

And then, like an electric shock, the world wakes up with noise. A familiar voice invades his senses, lamenting about a Mr. Crowley, as the world lights up in pure bright white behind his eyes-

Then another shock and he's gasping for air, falling from his suspension onto his bed and rolling off onto the floor.

Steve heaves, trying to regain his senses. The voices of his family surround him, echoing in his delirium, worried and scared. He breathes deep, attempting to respond... but his own voice beats him to it.

He finally opens his eyes, looking up from the ground he was kneeling over. There's no one around him, he's alone in his room.

His room that looks vaguely... fuzzy. And, come to think of it, uncomfortably wrong. There's a large mirror that rests opposite his bed that's now on the wrong wall, and the reflection is clearer than his own surroundings.

Except it's less of a reflection, and more of a portal. Through it, he sees his own body, sitting where Steve is kneeling, and staring at his hands. Shock and confusion is evident in every tremble of his fingers, and this reflection doesn't respond when someone says Steve's name.

There's something about it that feels familiar, a presence that Steve has longed to feel again for months. Steve unconsciously copies the reflection's position, and reaches out unsteadily. He wants to grab what he sees, catch the eye of it at the very least, just to know this is real like it was before.

Then another shock travels through his body, but this time, it lands hard in his fingertips and temples. He recoils sharply, face tensing up with a groan of pain.

But to this, his family reacts. Steve's eyes go wide, and he's suddenly met with reality. No fuzzy surroundings, with everyone right beside him. He shakes his shocked hand, rubs it, watches it flex and move just to convince himself. The presence from before is still there, but stronger now, like the person is right beside him.

He remembers the mirror, looks over at it, and freezes.

The others take notice, look at it too. Then they're freaking out, asking if anyone else can see it too, because it can't be real. Yet to Steve, it feels so so real.

The mirror reflects the room, but wrong. Fuzzy, without the others who are present. Where Steve's reflection should be isn't Steve. It's Eddie.

Dressed the same as he was in his final moments. Eyes as wide as the night they first found him. And that presence - the one Steve only felt during an Upside Down walk, at the front of a winnebago, in front of a trailer covered in vines - no longer feels like its beside Steve. Rather, like it's nestled right inside his heart, his brain.

Like Eddie's sharing the space there with Steve.

[m1d-45]

(what about me?)

summary: even gods get lonely, it just takes them a bit longer than most. but when it hits, it hurts, and hard.

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, mentions of wine, little guy is sad and alone about it :(

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

starsnatch cliff is empty more times than it isn’t.

it was a common destination for couples, the silence a welcome break from the bustle of the city of freedom. the stars up above were unblocked, bright, the full rotation of constellations visible by just tilting one’s head to the sky. two majors, twin sets of stars, the three minors orbiting, staring down, watching. the same form, night after night, a bard in green driving away the aspiring couples often enough they learnt to stop trying. a body is there, physically occupying the space, but with how little is being done, the cliff still feels empty. the stars watch, seeing all, as the same body comes and sits, as the same eyes turn to the sky, vacant with memory.

venti didn’t know which constellations were in rotation—he did, that was a lie, he knew every single one and their owners—nor how long they’d be up—liar, liar, liar—but he watched the sky anyway, spinning a cecelia in his hand. the stem was worn, some of the juice clinging to his fingers, but he didn’t set it down. to the left, to the right, the six petals twisting outside of his field of view.

the god of freedom found himself coming back to the same cliff every night, sometimes leaving the angels share earlier to get there quicker. he walked, picking a cecelia as he did, and sat in the same spot at the peak of the cliff.

was he truly free, he wondered, if the stars kept calling him back?

(he knew he was. it was his choice to return, his choice to stay until the sun rose, to take naps in the afternoon to make up for the sleep before coming back, back, back, night after day after night)

the galaxy streaking its way across the sky, blue and purple and greens mixing and blurring, broken only by the bright shine of stars. planets, all locked in their own orbit, worlds he’d never be able to see, all within his sight yet all out of his grasp.

his eyes fell on a star at random.

who lived there, he wondered? what was beyond the atmosphere he knew? how far was the next planet? was there even intelligent life? surely, there must be—you wouldn’t create only one planet with life on it, right? you’d create many races, aliens he couldn’t imagine, all created to thrive on their world and serve under you.

(were they treating you better? had you exited your resting world already, and found another planet to keep you occupied? was teyvat not enough for you? you… you’d tell them if they weren’t doing enough, right? you’d say? you wouldn’t just leave them in the dark, right?)

he wondered how far away you’d gone. he remembered you��of course he did, your visage was engraved in his mind, miles deep and never to erode—and your last moments on teyvat, how you’d promised the archons that you would return soon. that you wouldn’t be far.

of course, ‘far’ was relative. and what was time to a god? how long was ‘soon’ for you? how long would it be until he could be blessed with your presence again? the little of your aura that bled through your vessels wasn’t enough- it wasn’t, and he was horribly selfish for thinking so, but it wasn’t. not when he’d been able to lay his eyes upon your true form, not when he’d felt your skin beneath his as he led you through mondstat for the first time. the small glimpse of you that seeped into the air around your vessels may be enough to rest weary souls, but for a god?

you were the shining light of teyvat, always everywhere. traveling from nation to nation, occasionally visiting off-world but never for long, never, he never had to go without you for more than a year or two at a time, he never had to feel erosion start to sap at his life-

the stars grew blurry, and venti hastily wiped the tears away, continuing to search the sky.

he knew he was eroding. every god was. memories, resilience, patience, all of it fading. mortals (part of his mind flinched, but he was right, he was mortal, he could die) weren’t meant for the power of the divine, the gnoses grating against the walls of their soul. it was never a problem before, not when they had you, you to temper the flame of creation, you to brush your hand over a wayward god and breathe life back into their heart, you with your endless compassion, to accept what felt like overwhelming and discard it as trivial.

barbatos was eroding without you. every god was. the ley lines were acting up, the abyss growing stronger, the eons without your presence turning teyvat into a hollow husk. and yet, the pathetic little he discarded from your vessels had begun to heal it anyway.

why did you use vessels? you had to know it was easier to descend yourself, right? to let flowers bloom in your wake and the breeze brush grass from your clothes, to tuck ei’s hair behind her ear and let empathy back into her mind. your vessels did a lot, but they could not manage all- murata, focalors, the tsaritsa and her wretched fatui- you could fix it all, all with a blink and a smile, a gentle hand across the earth to sew it at the seams.

he was being idealistic. he knew he was. and yet, he could not help but to wish—wish, he wanted to laugh at the irony—that your return ‘soon’ would be within his lifetime.

he wanted to see you again. he wanted the scars across his soul to heal, for his empty, cracked cup to be filled with you. he wanted to go back to how it was, when ei could smile freely and the tsaritsa wasn’t so cold, when the wind blew softly, carrying the sound of laughter. time only turned one way, yet he wanted to reverse it, to force the universe in rewind, to when his greatest worry was which song to play you at lunch. he wanted to bring a bottle of dandelion wine and watch as morax insisted upon osmanthus, as rukkhadevata rolled her eyes with a smile and suggested how about tea instead, it’s barely noon.

he was selfish. every god was, to an extent, but he…

as venti looked up at the stars, he couldn’t help but pray that one of them was you.

[violetlauren]

Got sick with covid and once again @eternalglitch 's fanfic has entered my mind (along with some other fanfics). Thankfully I feel good enough to draw so I have some spare time now.

[sleeve-sleeve]

ok first murder drones now spooky month depression

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — “don’t need money, don’t take fame.”

APRIL 28, 2011

“Dad?”

Marty is never, ever gonna get tired of hearing that. He immediately stops, setting his pen down and the freshly signed CDs aside and giving his full attention to Emmett, who is hanging around the doorway like he still isn’t sure, after almost thirteen years, if he’s allowed to come in.

“Hey, kiddo,” Marty greets warmly, his son flashing him a small smile. “What’s goin’ on?”

Emmett looks around before stepping inside, and Marty is reminded of when Ellie, after input from Jules and Verne, assigned everyone animals when she was nine. Uncle Doc’s a mantis shrimp, she’d proclaimed, Auntie Clara’s a bear, Dad’s a whale, Mom’s a raven, and Emmett’s a pangolin! While he’s not sure about the rest of her picks, her choice for her brother… Yeah, at times like this he can see the resemblance.

“Dad…” he tries again. “Dad, did we ruin your life?”

Marty’s kind of glad his abject, heart shattering horror at that statement coming from his son outweighs his impulse to laugh in disbelief at a statement that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Of course not,” he reassures, opening his arms just in case his boy didn’t feel like he was too big for a hug. His son folds himself into him, burying his head in his shoulder. “The day you and Ellie were born,” Marty tells him, rubbing his back, “was pretty much the best day of my life.”

“…Even though Mom almost broke your hand?” Emmett asks, voice muffled, and Marty laughs.

“Yeah, even then. Y’know, if I could go back,” which he could, but his boy didn’t need to know that right yet, “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Emmett starts to pull away and Marty lets him go, but still holds him at arm’s length.

“Now,” father asks son, “where’s all this coming from, huh? You’re not hanging around that Tannen kid again, are you?”

Emmett’s face twists in disgust.

“No, Dad, are you nuts? That whole family’s crazy.”

“Attaboy,” Marty says proudly.

“...I found some of your old concert videos on YouTube,” Emmett finally admits. “And Dad… you look like you’re havin’ the time of your life. How come you gave it all up? It was because of us, wasn’t it?” His brown eyes are big and watery and Marty squeezes his shoulders.

“Aw, Em,” Marty sighs. “I had a blast on tour, you’re right. Hangin’ out with the guys, getting to see the world… It was a lot of fun for a while, but when it stopped being fun, we quit. And I have a blast here, too, with you and your sister and your mom. If you ask me… that right there’s the adventure of a lifetime. I love music, and I’m always gonna play music, but it was never about any kinda fame or fortune for me.” What would superstardom be like? He can barely keep up with the merch and the interviews and the producers and the long nights at the recording studios and the music videos as it is. He’d hate being so far away from home, never getting a moment’s peace, never being able to breathe.

“Then… what was it about?” Emmett asks.

“Believing in myself,” Marty says after a moment of thought. “Getting my voice heard. Y’know, I was a lot like you when I was your age.”

“Really?” Emmett breathes, awestruck, as if unable to conceive such a thing. “But everybody says you’re like Ellie.”

“And I am.” It takes the wind out of him sometimes, how similar he and his daughter are. She’s just as fiery, just as creative, just as stubborn. Everyone’s always thought that, just like how people have always compared Emmett to Jennifer. But when he looks at his daughter, so often he sees his wife’s determination and intelligence, and when he looks at his son… sometimes he has to double check he’s not in the DeLorean.

“But I’m also like you, Em. It’s hard as hell being a kid, y’know? I remember. You got so many ideas and so many thoughts and you feel like you’re in this world that you don’t really understand yet and that’s gonna shoot you down every chance it gets. I just wanted somebody to see me, but that’s a scary thing. I tried real hard to pretend like I was tough and to make like I wasn’t afraid of anything… but I was terrified, kid. Still am, sometimes.” Marty rubs the back of his neck. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s okay not to be sure of yourself yet, and it’s okay to be open about your feelings. And whenever you wanna talk, I’m here for you, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Got it?”

“Got it.” Emmett smiles and hugs him again. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too. So damn much.” Marty kisses the top of his son’s head and ruffles his dirty blond hair, which is immediately greeted with protest.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 25: "They're not breathing!" + Storm

Read it on Ao3

- Hyrule & Legend

- Summary: Hyrule uses the last of his magic to save his brother's life

CW for temporary character death, blood and injury

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

He’s not breathing.

Hyrule stares down his brother, his predecessor (for goodness sake, they just figured that one out), broken and bleeding and pale. 

“Legend…”

He murmurs his name as a prayer, a plea, a demand. His voice cracks at the end, betraying the sorrow that swells within him like the waves he has seen in Wind’s Hyrule.

He waits for the response, reassuring and teasing, probably with a hint of sarcasm. And while he waits, the rain pours down and the thunder shakes the earth and the lightning streaks across the sky. It storms in a mockery of the boy who hates storms, yet faces them with all the ferocity they embody, all the fervor and bravery.

The boy who has fallen before them and risen again.

“Come on, Ledge.”

Shaking fingers press to a pulse point, searching for the weakest flutter of a heartbeat. Nothing.

No response. No thunder of a hero’s pounding heart. 

Hyrule chokes on a ragged sob.

It had all happened so fast, too fast to understand, too fast to stop. The fight had been long and arduous. The monsters just kept coming and with it only being the two of them, it had begun to grow exhausting. And when a towering stal-monster had swung its claymore there had been no time to lunge for his brother.

Hyrule cringes, remembering the nauseating sound of the weapon connecting with Legend’s body. He had gone flying, hit the ground in a tangle of bloodied limbs, and not moved since.

But I need you to. Please, Legend. 

Their potions are gone, horribly understocked to begin with (they hadn’t thought they were headed towards a fight; it was just supposed to be a quick patrol), and drunk early in the battle. He’s all but drained of magic. There is hardly enough to perform something simple, much less a healing spell. 

But he has to do something, he can’t just sit here and wait for the moment when the others arrive (if they ever do, if some of the plentiful monsters didn’t slip away and attack them too). He can’t just sit here and watch Legend die.

(No, he’s not already dead even though his chest no longer rises and falls and he is limp and pale and devoid of the life he holds and fights for. Hyrule won’t let himself believe anything else.)

Doing nothing isn’t an option. So, Hyrule takes a deep breath and steels himself. Using magic that isn’t truly there is always excruciating (he would know, he has done it more times than he’d like to admit). But he’ll live. And most important of all, so will Legend.

The rain beats down and the thunder still rolls across the plains. Hyrule turns his face up into it, eyes closed, allowing it a moment to wash the blood from him, the fear. Lightning flashes so bright he can see it through his eyelids.

And in one swift movement he reaches out and places his hands on Legend’s chest. 

Usually, magic pours out of him, an effortless waterfall of the power that fills his very being. This time he drags it out kicking and screaming, forcing it through his veins, scraping as it goes. It shoots through his trembling fingertips, hot and agonizing, and Hyrule directs it into Legend. Every little bit of it.

He will give everything until that heart beats again. Even down to the last drop of magic. 

His body protests, desperately trying to hang on to the fading shreds of power, shrieking in warning. Hyrule’s vision swims with shades of light and darkness. The rushing in his ears drowns out even the thunder. Everything hurts. His insides are on fire, his veins burning up, his head pounding out the rhythm of his erratic heartbeat. 

Let go, everything within him screams at him, begs him. Stop this before you lose everything.

He cries out, sharp and strangled and hoarse, face upturned to the sky. The rain is like molten lava now, yet he shivers beneath its touch. His world has narrowed to nothing except this – pain and the goal he endures it to achieve. 

Not much longer now and he will have no choice but to succumb to the rising darkness.

It comes like the onward march of life, inevitable and terrifying. Hyrule battles against it.

Not yet. I can’t stop yet.

Come on, Legend. Breathe!

The chest beneath him jolts and spasms. Someone begins to cough, hacking and breathless. A slumbering heart flutters to life.

Hyrule drags open his eyes. A pair of sharp blues meet his hazel, blinking dazedly at him. 

“R-rulie?” 

Hyrule lets out something between a sob and a laugh.

It worked. Oh, thank Hylia, it worked!

“H-hey Ledge,” he slurs, voice thick with exhaustion and remnant pain. His body still aches, phantom agony snaking up his limbs. 

You pushed too hard, it whispers, in his veins and in his head. He ignores it.

It’s nothing he doesn’t already know. And to be honest, he doesn’t care. Legend is alive, and that’s all that matters. 

“What happened?” Legend glances around, pupils dilating slightly as he tries to comprehend the rain-drenched destruction around him. Then, he looks back at Hyrule, taking in his undoubtedly sorry state. “Rulie did…did you...” 

He drags his gaze up to meet his once more, something broken within them. It makes Hyrule startle slightly. He has never seen Legend look like that before. So open and vulnerable, so hopeful, yet so sad.

“Did you save me?”

Hyrule gives him a shaky smile. “I couldn’t just let my best friend die.”

Legend swallows, throat bobbing with the effort. “But…but your magic…”

Hyrule leans forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. The ground tilts threateningly in response. It won’t be long and he’ll be lying down beside Legend. 

Ah, well. A nap sounds nice anyway.

“I’m…I’m okay, Ledge. It’ll replenish. It’s not the first time I’ve done something l-like this.”

Legend just stares at him for a moment. Then, he lets his head fall back into the mud with a defeated splash. A shaky chuckle escapes from cracked, bloodied lips. But it is a triumphant sound, a declaration that he is back, that he is alive.

“You idiot.”

The urge to lay down is too strong to deny any longer. With a trembling sigh, Hyrule settles down beside his brother, cringing a bit as the chilly mud clings to his battered body. His hand travels down to find Legend’s and he entwines their fingers, smiling a bit as he realizes his grasp is warm. 

It had been growing cold just a few moments ago. And Legend is all flame and fire, all blinding light that can’t be put out. It isn’t right for him to look and feel like ice.

“You’re the idiot who almost died on me,” he mumbles, scooting a little closer. “Don’t you dare do that again.”

Legend gives his hand a weak squeeze. For a long moment he is quiet and Hyrule begins to drift off in the serene embrace of the dwindling rain. When he speaks his voice is hardly above an exhausted, strained whisper. But Hyrule hears it all the same.

“Thanks, Rulie. I owe you one.”

And as Hyrule fades away, he smiles.

He’d do it again. A thousand times, he would do it again.

[coloursofaparadox]

i just want more media and literature where the protagonist gets like. dehumanized. or demonized or possessed or changed into something that's not quite human one day and then they just have existential crises about it. and they suffer. is that too much to ask

[foreverchangingfandomsao3]

Ni ru’tegaanali gar tug’yc ruug’la jag (I rescued you again, old man) (2,188 words) by foreverchangingfandoms

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024, Whump, Obi-Wan Kenobi Whump, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Light Whump, Anakin Skywalker is a Little Shit, Specifically he's a little shit about having to rescue Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker Crashes Starships, Sassy Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grumpy Obi-Wan Kenobi, Wet Clothing, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Grumpy Cat of a man, I don't know if crocodiles exist in star wars but they do now, Wound Cleaning

Series: Part 16 of Whumptober 2024

Summary:

Anakin crashes their ship and somehow that is only the beginning of their troubles.

My fill for whumptober day 16 - Necrosis (swamp | wound cleaning | “no, I can’t feel anything”)

[yellowloid]

bungo stray dogs spoilers ahead: i'm actually kinda glad tiktok spoiled s5 for me because if i had to witness with my own two eyes chuuya shooting dazai in the head without knowing it was an elaborate plan to throw fyodor off and they were actually in cahoots the whole time (like the clinically insane husbands they are <3) i would have actually lost my mind a little

[dracomeir]

omg I just realized bandit leader Pico for my wild west AU is the embodiment of, "You either a die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

I also had no idea that quote was from Batman until now, so til.

[mobius-m-mobius]

(I'm so sorry for this but) in a roundabout way don't you think Loki taking the brunt of the fall-and-slide off the time runway a foreshadow for him taking the brunt of holding onto the entire multiverse so his new boy best friend can continue to exist? And the fact that he re-materialized and slammed all the way into Mobius' arms really cemented the fact that he was timeslipping back to him the whole time??

Oh no please don't be sorry anon, if anything Lokius angst is probably fueling at least 97.2% of my existence at this point so by all means keep it coming 😂

And yes, I was just thinking about this the other day!! Tbh the first ep of S2 is full of foreshadowing about Loki's fate (most notably the sheets of paper that cover enough of the TVA logo to spell “Time Author” when he's looking for a time stick in the future TVA to get back to Mobius) and it's definitely not a coincidence all the time Mobius spent in S1 fighting to give Loki the chance to be whoever he wanted essentially manifested in Loki realizing what he wants is to be someone there for Mobius in the same way which we see in his every action afterwards.

Then there's Loki's timeslipping which is SUCH a cool visual impact but also just satisfyingly obvious which is probably the main reason I love it, lol. How unbelievably telling that at first when it happens as Loki's anxiety or nervousness builds he's only able to take better control after following the trail of getting back to Mobius then even more so after Mobius physically and emotionally grounds him. Then of course when A.D. Doug explains if Loki focuses on what he "needs" he can control his timeslipping, that's why his reply of needing to save the TVA doesn't activate anything until he gives in to what he *personally* needs first and foremost which is to get back to Don and figure out how to give Mobius the choices he was never afforded upon creation, only to end up doing so in a way that took away the one thing Mobius did want and now here we are 😔

[eyndr-stories]

"But Eyndr, where did they get a golf cart-" Shhhhhhhh

[downthepub]

.