#back .2 seconds and peter's already trying strange's patience :^)

[elataanarchive]

* @traumaturgic​ said :  ‘you can’t get like this, okay?’ // JORDY JORDY JORDY

       ❛ GET   LIKE   WHAT   ?   I’M   JUST   VIBIN’  .   ❜   innocence   riddled   his   expression.   he’d   been   hanging   out   with   the   other   peter   too   much   -   adopted   the   lingo   of   earth   as   his   lower   lip   protruded   in   pout,   brow   furrowed   in   defensive   nature.   he   was   a   boy   bred   from   the   stars   with   galaxies   in   his   lungs   ---   he   was   boy   incarnate,   who   would   rather   cause   trouble   and   run   than   face   his   own.     ❛  you   afraid   i’m   gunna   embarrass   ya   in   front   of   your   wizard   friends?  ❜   cheeks   bubbled   as   he   curled   his   tongue   against   his   lips,   blowing   a   raspberry.  ❛  if   anything   ---   I’m   the   coolest   dude   here.   stop   worrying   so   much,   man.   ❜

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

The 3 forbidden words

Summary: What does Bucky do when you accidently let slip the 3 words everyone fears to say first in a relationship?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Angst, loss of loved ones, swearing, references to sex, depression, numbness

This is another wonderful ask from @summerdaughter. This is quite an angsty fic, but as promised I ended it with a lot of fluff. Enjoy my lovelies x

*2 years ago*

You let out a satisfied sigh as you finished leafing through the mission briefing, sliding a rusted paper clip onto the thick stack of paper to hold it all together. You tossed it carelessly onto your bed side table, reaching over with a small groan to switch of the night light. You fell back into the warm embrace of your bed, eyes fluttering shut. Finally some rest. Finally you can silence your thoughts and drift off into blissful sleep. Finally you can quieten thoughts that you don’t dare let yourself think of even for second, for fear you will spiral back into the numbness that had consumed you since Thanos... Finally, you can sleep. But almost as soon as relief washes over you, your body tenses up once more and you see their faces in the darkness, eyes snapping open, you almost cry out into the silence.

You always hear people blaming a restless night or two on stress, insomnia or having a lot on their mind. No one ever talks about what losing that which you love can do to a person, when you’re all alone in your bed, accompanied by only the still silence of the empty room you spend most of your time in and your own prison - cell of a mind. It’s then, in the dead of night, that you miss them most. You miss their playful jokes, the way they would laugh with you, the way they would cry with you, the way their touch felt upon your skin. You missed Tony’s stupid inventions he gifted you when you were sad. You missed the feeling of Nat’s careful fingers braiding your hair when you were too tired to do so. You missed feeling like nothing could hurt you ever again when you were in Steve’s arms. For most, when darkness fell like a blanket upon the Earth, it was time to go to sleep. Not you, apparently.

You pushed yourself out from between the blankets, exposed feet making contact with the cool wooden floor. You swept the hair off your neck into a loose ponytail, the slight draft from the open window tickling your nape. You didn’t mind it in the slightest. You cringed at every creak and whinge of the floorboards, knowing you wouldn’t forgive yourself for waking Sam or Peter who both also barley got enough sleep as it is. You mindlessly made your way to the kitchen, lost in thought. You wanted some sort of alcoholic drink, something to dull your senses and numb your body. Maybe you would make some tea and spike it with vodka, or maybe you would just skip the tea and go straight for the vodka. You were surprised to find Bucky pulled up to the bar as you turned the corner, sipping generously on a whiskey, your breath catching as you took in his moon - lit frame. He was wearing grey sweatpants, tied loosely, but evidently he had chosen to wear nothing to cover his toned back which you found oddly calming to watch as he inhaled and exhaled slowly. You tried to match your speed with his, only just now noticing how quickly you had been breathing. He turned around, not a single hint of surprise or shock registering on his face as he beckoned with his head for you to sit beside him. You obliged gratefully, happy to have some company for once.

*one week ago*

‘and Wanda?’ you ask, Doctor Strange’s hologram stood in front of you as you nibbled on some toast. ‘We’re not sure. Last we heard, she had broken into some SWORD facility. I’ll update you if we find anything else’ he replied, giving you a sad smile with a million different meanings behind it. ‘...and how are we dealing with Morgan?’ you asked, voice breaking as you tried not to think about how she has to grow up without a father, just like you did. ‘Pepper is doing just fine with Happy’s help. Don’t worry about her, y/n. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is’, Strange replied sympathetically. You nodded dutifully, thanking him and switching off the device. ‘They’ll find her, y/n. Don’t worry. They have to’ Peter comforted you, patting your shoulder apologetically. He may not have known Wanda for long, but he knew how close you two were, and don’t get me started on how closely he sympathised with Morgan Stark. 

Peter soon left after he had downed a few cups of shitty coffee, promising to return in the afternoon. You had seen him try to grab his suit without you noticing, but you decided to leave him be, saying nothing to Sam as he also left to go help out with something in Wakanda. You had been alone for an hour or so at most when Bucky strolled in, humming to himself a song which seemed all too familiar. ‘What’s that song. I know it’ you questioned, patting the couch as Bucky slumped down beside you. ‘I don’t know the name, doll’ he sighed, swinging his arm around the back of your shoulders, in a way that almost seemed like he was sort of shielding you. You always felt safe beside Bucky. You pulled his face against yours, kissing him softly as he cupped your face gently with his metallic fingers. ‘I was worried Spidey boy was going to hog you forever’ Bucky laughed, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip making you giggle. You sighed contently as you melted into his warm embrace, inhaling his heavenly, euphoric scent. Without thinking, the 3 forbidden words poured out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. I love you. Withdrawing his hand abruptly, you noticed Bucky’s eyes widen slightly in a panic, his hands meeting each other in his lap, flesh fingers tracing over metal ones as he always did when he was uncomfortable. ‘...this couch. I love this couch’ you corrected yourself awkwardly, not wanting to make eye contact for fear of tears from your eyes at once, like blood from a wound. Uncontrollable, painful.

But as Bucky laughed nervously, getting up to grab a mug of tea, you bit your lip in deep thought. You had been dating for almost 2 years, now. It was easy, and made sense, finding comfort in each-other after suffering the same loses. It had been going well, even better than well. Great. You had slept together after only a few weeks, finding his touch not only pleasurable, but comforting, almost filling one of the many holes puncturing your heart. You never felt the need to label yourself, confident that Bucky wanted and felt the same as you, reciprocating your love for him. But what if you were wrong?

But if he felt the same as you, why then, was he so scared of saying ‘I love you’ back? You got up, shaking slightly as you walked around the kitchen island to stand in front of him. ‘I love you, Bucky’ you stated, looking him straight in those big blue eyes. Bucky on the other hand suddenly found his cup of tea super interesting, staring at it intently. You shook your head with frustration, taking the cup out of his hand and placing it down harshly on the countertop with a sharp bang, tea spilling over the sides. ‘Why won’t you say it back, Barnes?’.

Bucky almost choked on air as ‘Barnes’ fired from your mouth. Now he knew you were angry, but he didn’t understand. ‘I don’t understand’ he said truthfully, finally finding your eyes with his own. ‘Why do we need to say it out loud when we’re both thinking it anyway?’ he asked you, a look of genuine confusion splayed across his face. ‘That’s what people like us usually do’ you replied, reminding yourself to hold your tongue carefully and not let your bad - temper take over.

‘What do you mean, people like us?’ he continued with his previous style of stupid questioning, and you wondered how someone could be this daft. ‘A couple, Bucky! Boyfriend and girlfriend. People who are dating. Lovers. Partners. Must I continue?’ you replied, losing your patience with him. You had already been through so much pain, did he really need to inflict even more. ‘I told you when we started this thing, doll, I wasn’t ready to date. I had just lost Steve...’ you noticed a slight waver in his voice at the mention of Steve, and you too slightly winced upon hearing the name of your beloved friend who had left you both when you needed him most. At the same time, hearing him call you doll when you were so enraged just ticked you off even more. ‘...and I wasn’t ready to be romantically involved with anyone’ he finished, waiting to see your reaction. If ever there was a time for Bucky to be scared, it was now.

You bit down harshly on your tongue to stop yourself from crying, because you knew once you let the pain in, it would never stop. ‘But it’s been 2 years Bucky. I thought...’ you waved your hand dismissively in the air as if you were waving an actual thought away. ‘So it was just sex to you?’ you finally dared ask, the question almost a punch to Bucky’s gut, causing him to writhe under your burning gaze. ‘No, doll, no it wasn’t just sex I never -‘ he tried to scramble for some sort of logical explanation, but you were hurt beyond belief.

You exhaled humorously, laughing to yourself. ‘You’re the winter soldier, Bucky. Enhanced to live many more years than the average human. You and Steve both. Need I remind you I’m just a weak mortal, like them. Just like Tony, and Nat, and look where they ended up. Dead’ you spoke the last word with such pain and sharpness, it was like you had stabbed Bucky with one of his own knives, and Bucky almost trembled. You forgot he could hear your heartbeat, part of the perks of being ‘enhanced’, as you called it, and your heart was racing faster and faster with every passing moment. All he could do was listen to it race away, and try not to let his own one break.

‘You may still have battles to fight. People to avenge, people to make amends with. But I am so done with this bullshit Bucky. I’ve lost enough to know that I never want to kill another soul again. Thanos was the last. Thanos is the last. I want to settle down. Maybe even start a family one day, I don’t fucking know. I was hoping it could be with you’ Bucky tried to interject but you held up a red tipped finger, silencing him.

‘If your not ready, that’s fine. I’m ok with that. You know why, Barnes? Because I fucking love you, and I’ll never stop loving you, till the end of the line’  your lip quivered with that last sentence, shoving him back and racing to the elevator to escape this place, to escape him. You don’t know how many hours you were gone for, but when you came back, he was gone.

*now*

‘It’s not your fault he’s gone, y/n. Don’t you dare blame yourself, he made his choice’ Sam spoke gently, a solemn, understanding look passing between him and Peter. You plastered a fake smile on your face, one not quite reaching your eyes as you reassured them you weren’t blaming yourself. A lie.

Bucky was gone when you came back the day of your fight, all that was left was a note scrawled in his old-fashioned handwriting. You noticed parts of the ink was slightly smudged in an odd sort of way, like salted tears had fallen upon it. I’m sorry doll. I love you so much, I really do. I’m just so unbelievably scared that if we became serious, I would just end up hurting you, just like I did them. You blinked back tears, realising he was referring to Steve, Nat and Tony. ‘It’s not your fault baby’, you whispered to the empty room.

The ringing of the doorbell stirred you from your thoughts, causing you to jump. ‘Wait here’ Sam commanded you as him and Peter entered the elevator and travelled down to see who was bothering what was left of the avengers. You watched the numbers go all the way from 6 down to 0 as the elevator evidently reached the ground floor.

A few minutes passed. You sat at the kitchen table, sipping gingerly on that shitty coffee you all loved so much before you heard the elevator ding as it slid open to reveal Sam, Peter and Bucky stood inside. It was then that Peter suddenly decided he had to help Sam with ‘stuff’, as the spider boy so poetically and subtly put it. You glared at the boys as they shuffled around in the small elevator, swiftly making a getaway, as Bucky timidly stepped out. You crossed your arms.

‘Back again so soon? Here to hurt your other friends?’ you shot at him, pushing down the feeling of guilt as soon as the words left your mouth. You seemed to have forgotten the words of his note as quickly as you had read them. Bucky walked up to you, nervously to say the least, reaching into his pocket. You raised your eyebrows in confusion awaiting his response, as he took a deep breath.

The look of confusion soon morphed into shock as the super soldier gracefully got down to one knee, pulling out what you recognised with awe to be a ring. ‘I’m so sorry I hurt you doll. Took me a few days to get my shit together, realise Steve would kick me for leaving if he was still here, find the right one (he nodded towards the ring held so carefully in his hands), and I couldn’t let you down again...won’t let you down ever again. I love you more than I could ever put into words and would love nothing more then to be with you...till the end of the line’ You struggled to hold in tears as you hands flew to your mouth, the first real smile of many days growing to cover your face. Your shaky breaths only quickened as Bucky smiled at you like a happy puppy, at last sure of where he wanted to be, and who he wanted to be with.

‘Y/n S/n, will you make me the happiest super soldier alive and...’ Bucky tried to say as he held the ring out to you from beneath you, but a high pitched ‘Yes’ escaped from your mouth muffled by your trembling hands as you nodded, cheeks now glistening with tears. ‘You didn’t let me finish, will you...’

‘Yes’ you stopped him again as his sweet eyes crinkled at the sides from both laughter and frustration, as e stood up and you quickly brushed your lip against his impatiently.

‘Marry me, doll’ he finished, as he slid the ring perfectly onto your finger, diamond sparkling in the sunlight as you heard a small squeal from the direction of the elevator followed by the sound of a man elbowing a teenage boy playfully in the ribs. Before he could get another word out, you pulled Bucky in by the collar of his tight leather jacket with one arm ripped off, kissing him deeply, pouring in all your love and affection. You pulled back, reaching for his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom, away from a few certain someones prying eyes.

‘I thought this relationship wasn’t about sex?’ the handsome motherfucker grinned. ‘Oh so you don’t want to fuck me then, Barnes?’ Oh, now he was in trouble. ‘I never said that...’ he replied smugly, tossing you over his shoulder bringing you both to your room, onto the bed and under the covers.

[bouncyirwin]

Bouncy’s Masterpost || 2019 Edition

This is something I started last year that I plan to keep doing! I present to you the good, the bad and the ugly of 2019!

♡ 2018′s Masterpost Order: from oldest to newest. 

Februrary 2019

[1] Wish I Knew You | 13,527 Words | T | KakaSaku & GenIno A lost bet and a forced dare brings two lonely losers together. Sakura never thought something as absurd-sounding as the 'No More Lonely Losers' program would land none other than Konoha's hottest bachelor and her long-time crush in her lap. KakaSaku. Rating might be upped later.

Snippet:

"Sakura? What in the world are you doing under the table?"

She froze in horror as a certain silver-haired, dark-eyed man bent to peer curiously at her. "Is this some sort of fun three-way fondling in public, because you guys are not being very discreet about it."

"O-of course not!" Sakura spluttered, and her head collided with the table edge in her hurry to get back into her seat. "Oww!"

Temari very much choked on her chuckles as Sakura pressed a soothing green hand to her head and lowered herself into a vacant seat with as much dignity as she could muster. "Kakashi, you dirty old man, don't say such nonsense."

March 2019

[2] Between the Lines | 1,711 Words | T | ShinRan [Detective Conan]

There was something about him when he was quiet, mind brimming with facts, with truths that could shatter the world that was so terrifying and exhilarating and she often found herself lost in thoughts of him, spaced-out looking at the arch of his brow and the slope of his nose and the pucker of his lips. One-shot. ShinRan.

Snippet:

Shinichi had always carried a confident tug in his shoulders, an arrogant streak in his eyes, and mischief in his smiles wherever he went. Even on the most brutal crime scenes those traits never faltered. But now ... he was so contained now, like he walked on fragile glass instead of the earth. Like it might've shattered beneath his soles if he made the faintest impression.

This Shinichi walked in measured breaths, with his eyes peeled open and his shoulders hunched in ever so slightly—it was as if he wanted to take up less space, like he felt exposed. And Ran's heart went out to him, every time.

[3] Closure, Part III of Resolutions | 2,220  Words | T | KakaSaku In which Sakura realises it isn't too late to find happiness and lets go. [Three-shot, KakaSaku]

Snippet: 

She stared at his hands in her lap and wondered how to phrase her words in a way that didn't make him bolt, "I think that… that people don't see this side of you. I used to think you hated kids. But I don't think that's really the case. I think it'd be a shame if you never had children."

[4] Late Night Revelations | 4,166 Words | M | KakashixOC

Nousagi and Kakashi crash in an Inn after a grueling ANBU mission. Things take an unexpected turn as Kakashi's more playful side makes an appearance.

Snippet:

“Kakashi,” Nousagi said after what felt like ages of silence.

He cracked open one eye, leaning his head in her direction in silent inquiry. The action made his hair fall into his eyes, which in turn made her chest tighten in a strangely pleasant way. “Are you okay now?”

He gave her a lazy smirk, “You’re awfully worried today—I’m fine. Almost bored actually.”

“No Icha Icha?” She gave him a meaningful side-eye and almost laughed when he let out a sigh. “Yep, thought so. Let me guess: unsalvageable after a week of dirt and blood?”

“Don’t rub it in,” he grumbled sourly, to which she did finally laugh.

[5] Stolen Moments | 1,830 Words | M | ShiSaku

"All that blood really brings out your eyes."

Snippet:

He flashes in front of her, manifesting into something distinguishable from the blur of the nightly forest just as his blade sweeps down like the damning call of the reaper and severs clean through the enemy's neck. This time the blood splatters her face and cascades down her cheek to drip down her vest.

Shisui sheaths his sword and turns to face her. The shadows conceal his features, but his eyes stand out a crimson red through the darkness. He steps forward, and suddenly the moonlight bathes him in an ethereal glow and his eyes darken to a liquid charcoal. He smiles—something dangerous and sharp as his fingers glide over her bloody cheek, "All that blood really brings out your eyes …"

April 2019 

[6] The Sound of Silence | 1,656 Words | T | Merlex [Grey’s Anatmoy]

He watches her eyes fluttering open. Tentative, like the wings of a butterfly, and he's afraid to hope. She's bruised beyond recognition. Swollen, blue, heartbreaking, and still everything he ever wants. 12x09. Merlex.

Snippet: 

"Mer … " He's talking, and he knows she can't even hear him, but he just wants to say her name, to taste it on his tongue, to pretend everything is okay.

He tries to smile even when it hurts his face. Even when his jaw resists. He tries to smile for her.

May 2019

[7] Watch Each Other’s Six | 3,222 Words | M | StevexPeggy [Marvel]

Steve wants the life he's lost back. He wants to righten his place in history and most importantly, he wants to do right by Tony.

Dad!Steve, Baby!Tony, Post-Endgame.

Snippet:

It’s barely a flash, but the thought still hits him like a fist in the gut and his breath catches. Tony Stark’s face in a framed photo on a casket, and Peter sobbing, and Pepper trying hard not to fall apart while Happy shamelessly devolves into tears. It still hasn’t fully sunk in, possibly because he has suppressed it, violently, that Tony Stark—Tony who walks the ground in measured steps because it could barely contain him and that dramatic, lively flair of his presence—could possibly be gone forever.

And isn’t that why Steve hesitates? Because here one form of Tony will live while there, there’ll be none?

[8] The Universe Released | 897 Words | T | IronStrange [Marvel] 

There’s a man that lays in his bed every night, that burrowed and tucked himself into a nook in his heart and made a home for himself where Stephen had forbidden anyone else. There had been no rational answer, no cogent way to figure out how Tony Stark, someone he had despised at first glimpse, had instilled himself into the very centre of Stephen’s universe and made himself its point of gravity.

Written for IronStrangeWeek2019 Day 3: 10 Years Later

Snippet:

“That long, huh?” Tony chuckles and runs a hand through Stephen’s hair. “Suprised we made it this long?”

Stephen shakes his head, his arm snaking around Tony’s middle and tugging them closer. “There hasn’t been a single day,” Stephen begins, eyes flickering to lock with Tony’s, “In which I doubted you being the one for me.”

“So suave.” Murmurs Tony, eyes half-lidded as they drop to Stephen’s lips. “I’m already in bed with you, you don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

[9] Do you know that thing, of which the heart bleeds? | 950 Words | T | Gen [Marvel]

Tony never thought of himself as particularly selfless, but when he meets those endless blue eyes, sees the way Stephen’s fingers curl and one stands firm and absolute, he thinks to hell with it.

Snippet:

There’s an odd sense of relief that only lasts a flickering second. Life has never been kind to him, and now it won’t be able to take from him any more than it already has.

(But, ultimately, Tony knows otherwise. He is but a man, and all he wishes for right then is some peace of mind. But he can’t help but think about all the years lost from his future: watching Morgan grow, sending her to college, making love to Pepper, having another kid, and maybe another, why the hell not? And he knows, that life will continue to steal from him even when he’s six feet under, even when he’s got nothing left to give, and he thinks peace is for the ignorant, and that he is anything but).

[10] Raw Skin and a Bleeding Heart | 602 Words | G | Ironstrange [Marvel]

He presses a kiss to Stephen’s hair, it smells of mint and warmth, and Tony finds himself thinking about the vast universe, the endless stretch of space, the planets and the moon and the sun and how there isn’t a single place he’d rather be at, at that moment. A companion piece to The Universe Released, can be read independently.

Written for IronStrangeWeek2019, Day 7: 14000605.

Snippet: 

He loves Stephen in all the unconventional ways, he knows. He loves Stephen in the little spaces between the spoken and unspoken words, in the loud silence that separates their bodies, in the way two broken souls slot together perfectly.

June 2019 

[11] Moment You Loved Her (back) | 7,936 Words | T | KakaSaku

Some things are just worth breaking for. KakaSaku AU.

Snippet:

The seconds stretch out, wearing his patience thin. There they remained, an elite jounin, appearing to stand cool and collected before a human trainwreck. Yet somehow she managed to make him feel like she was a queen looking down from her throne at him, as she decides his punishment. How is it that her gaze alone threatens to shatter him? He feels stretched thin, and like all the pieces of him are about to crumble from all of the cheap glue and rough treatment.

There's a moment where Kakashi just wants to give in and fall apart; just hand himself over to her and hope for the best. Even if it means he has to gracefully endure her silent treatment with the humility of a man who knows he's wronged a woman in ways he doesn't necessarily understand.

[12] Make Me Lose Control | 6,459 Words | M | KakSaku

A mission to Ame turns into a paid vacation, and Kakashi and Sakura find themselves crossing all sorts of lines.

Snippet:

"Give me my book back."

"Or what?"

"Don't challenge your superior."

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm the head of a chain of hospitals all over the shinobi nations and you're an ex-Hokage who can only go on diplomatic missions anymore."

Kakashi gasps, "Take that back."

"Children." Shikamaru sounds and looks utterly exasperated from his perch against the desk at the reception area. Behind him, Shizune is sniggering to herself as she types away on her computer.

July 2019

[13] Tangled Up In You | 20,414 Words | M | HarleyxPeter [Marvel]

Besides him, Harley seems to need a moment to collect himself. “Hey,” he says, fingers touching tentatively at Peter's knuckles. Peter nearly flinches, tingles chasing Harley’s touch. “It’s okay—look at me—it’s okay.”

Even in the darkness Harley’s eyes glint and they’re so beautiful for a moment Peter can’t look away.

“I don’t mind this,” Harley tells him, firm and genuine. “If you’re curious about… about kissing a guy, I don’t mind.”

Snippet:

“Ned. Ned.” He says urgently. “Um. What does the news say exactly?”

Ned pauses. “Um… someone uploaded a live video of those men invading through the roof. Obviously he was caught but the video was already out there and the police were alerted. Why?”

Peter wishes he could say his next line without wanting to choke himself with his own bare hands. “I… I may have done something really, really fucking stupid.”

“Oh? You mean that you kissed Harley in the middle of a crowd of awe-struck teenagers? Yeah, not your best move.”

August 2019 

[14] Un-Break My Heart | 2,884 Words | T | KakaSaku

He's beautiful like all broken things are, in all the ways they could be mended, in their complexity, in their contrasting fragility and resilience. And Sakura never learned how to not love broken things. [KakaSaku]

Snippet:

Perhaps he notices that, because he lets her.

She laces their fingers together, determined to keep him right there next to her and can't believe the kind of way it makes her feel to have his palm pressed against her own, his stuttering pulse against her wrist.

"Just try," she beseeches him, and expects a rejection.

"Okay." He says after a pause, voice cracking. "Okay, Sakura."

[15] Black and White | 3,150 Words | G | ShisuiHina

Hinata makes a bento for her crush, but this ends up being Shisui's lunch instead.

Snippet:

He was such a refined and exquisite mix between gentle and hard, such an alluring aesthetic, Hinata attributed her sudden infatuation to those rare qualities.

"What?" he asked, suddenly, dark eyes shifting to meet her own.

In the wane orange glow of the setting sun, they looked like a portal to some other world and Hinata found herself trapped, sinking. They glittered, like mirrors, the darkest shade of charcoal, reflecting her image back at her in muted tones.

Hinata swallowed convulsively. "Sorry," it came out as a whisper, her eyes roaming his face.

What was she feeling?

Her heart thundered in her ears, as if afraid of the way it quivered and shook under this new weight settling over her chest.

What was this?

"It's just…," she swallowed again, unsure if she should voice those thoughts. "You have beautiful eyes."

October 2019 

[16] Stay With Me | 2,648 Words | M | KakaSaku | Fanart

Falling for her doesn't leave him with bruises and broken bones, it leaves him with warmth and the colour green and the rapidly addicting revelation that it might all just be alright after all. KakaSaku Proposal AU.

Snippet:

She cranes her neck back to regard him silently with her endless green eyes, and with her gaze comes a feeling a little like drowning, "You've just seemed ... a little off lately. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? What's on your mind?"

Kakashi considers that for a few moments—it's such a convenient opening. He bites his lip as he looks down at her, watches the way her eyes flicker down to his mouth before quickly flitting back up. "... I love being a ninja," he admits quietly. "Or, well, I got used to being a ninja. But ... you make me want to stay here with you."

She smiles, and it's radiant. "Yeah? That doesn't sound so bad."

[17] Bare Bones Ch 3 of A Shift in Space | 8,740 of 23,373 Words | T | Gen

Naruto Uzumaki was forced to watch every single friend he's ever cared about die except for one. Together, they will fix this. Together they'll rewrite fate. TIME TRAVEL. [New publish date: 30th. August]

Snippet: 

Naruto breathed a sigh of relief. "That'd be great… we need to do everything we can to prevent Orochimaru from luring Sasuke away."

Frowning, his companion slowly shook his head. "I don't think that'd work— I know you want to protect Sasuke but do you think Orochimaru would stop trying if he failed the first time around? No. Let's not risk it, we'd be blind in another attempt—much like the first time. We need to convince Sasuke to stay. We can't do anything about Orochimaru for now."

For a split second, Naruto looked like he might disagree. But then he gnawed angrily at his lower lip and looked away.

November 2019

[18] Every Last Drop | 3,378 Words | M | KakaSaku

“This isn’t about you. You’re amazing at what you do. I just … the shower—well—you’re just not a showerhead. And sometimes that’s what I want.”

When she chances a look at Kakashi again his eyes have widened slightly, and he looks entirely taken aback. “You—the showerhead?” The amount of disbelief packed into that word would’ve made a lesser woman dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.

The blush steadily spreads down her neck as she contemplates this bizarre conversation he pulled her into having. She really hadn’t wanted to ever discuss this with anyone. “Yes, the showerhead. Problem?”

Sakura looks away again, feeling the slow, simmering burn of embarrassment.

A few moments of silence later, Kakashi shifts, and when he speaks he nearly purrs.

“Can I watch?”

[19] Decisions and Choices Ch 13 of Underneath the Underneath | 5,500 of 61,803 Words | M | KakaSaku & GenIno

Our past is what defines us; what shapes us into the people we are. And Sakura… Sakura would've never guessed Kakashi was the product of so much suffering. With every strange dream, another piece of the puzzle is found; and with every vision, they grow a step closer to completion. NEW PUBLISH DATE: 23/4/2017

Snippet:

"Mmm ... Sakura ..." he rasped over a sigh, jolting her a little. He made no attempt to move, however, and after the passage of a few silent and heavy moments, filled only with his quiet breathing, she realised he was still asleep.

Was he ... was he dreaming about her?

Sakura chewed on her lip, her heart thundering in her ears. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was soothing, urging hers to calm down, to beat together as one.

December 2019 

[20] Let The Truth Sting | 3,163 Words | M | KakaSaku

Sasuke's first glance at Kakashi's face comes in the form of Kakashi's open mouth pressed over Sakura's. Or, in which Sasuke sees Sakura has found her happiness with someone else. Quite graphically. [KakaSaku, Sasuke's POV]

Snippet:

Sasuke still finds himself following them.

There's a subtle air of a routine, a comfortable familiarity found only between people who hang out frequently, and Sasuke's feeling of shame has receded to be replaced by a surge of irritation as it becomes apparent where the duo is heading. Down the block is Sakura's two-bedroom apartment, the one she bought for herself after she divorced Sasuke more than a year ago.

At her doorstep, Sasuke fully expects her to say her goodbyes to Kakashi.

Sasuke watches with a scowl as she invites him in.

Bonus - Art 

January - [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x]

February - [x], [x], [x], [x] 

March - [x], [x], [x] 

April - [x], [x]

May - [x]

August - [x], [x]

September - [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x], [x] 

October - [x], [x], [x], [x], [x] 

December - [x], [x], [x]

It’s worth mentioning that everything pre-may was drawn without a tablet! Also notice how the months I didn’t write in have like 5+ arts xD

[authoressskr]

Write Into My Arms [2]

Characters: f!Reader, James “Bucky” Barnes, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Peter Parker, Hope Van Dyne, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Okoye, T’Challa, Shuri, Clint Barton, Happy Hogan, Dr. Strange, Wong, Bruce Banner, Amelina Rodrigez (OFC), with mentions of Thor, Carol Danvers, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, Peter Quill, Gamora, Nebula, Mantis and Drax.

Warnings: Language, Angst (mostly in last two chapters), Action (in last chapter) and no Beta (just me and Grammerly up in here)  ::  Word Count: 9491   ::  Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

This was written for @jewelofwinter’s Writing Challenge!! I also incorporated a prompt for @jaamesbbarnes + @sgtjbuccky’s D&S’ Milestone Celebration!!

Prompt: “Tin Man lost Y/N.” (@jewelofwinter’s prompt) + “Publicly, I agree. Personally, I think it’s chickenshit.” (D&S’ prompt) Bolded in text below. Prompt #1 will appear in the third part while Prompt #2 appears in the second part. The next parts will be posted by the end of this week. All three will be linked.

Summary: You’re a small time blog writer who is invited to interview the Avengers. ALL the Avengers.

*Note for this chapter: Endgame happened - kind of. Steve didn’t go back to the 40s. Tony didn’t die. Natasha got brought back with the Bruce Snap. Bruce is not the Hulk mashup they had going on. Everything else happened. This takes place 3 years after defeating Thanos.*

[PART 1]

Please do NOT repost, copy & paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION.

-+- REBLOGGING is fine and very appreciated! -+-

Natasha’s interview is probably the most paced, filled with shocking details about the Red Room, where she was trained to be the Black Widow and her various roles in SHIELD, Stark Industries, and the Avengers - all while she throws knives at a target in the gun range. Intimidating.

She then takes you up to the gym, showing you how to throw someone twice your size over your shoulder and then you retreat to her room where lets you try out her fancy electric bracelet/glove thingies. Natasha talks about her relationship with Clint as she settles against her forest green velvet headboard - how he was the one to pull her out of that life...to give her a new start to help clear “the red in her ledger”. 

“What changed? For you to take his help?”

“I was obedient. A perfect student. But I didn’t like what I did. I did it for the results they sought. I always accomplished my goal. I was broken. Broken and remade, broken and remade until I was what they desired.” She gives a harsh bark of laughter. “But Clint showed me there was another way. I have a skill set, he wasn’t asking me to live a lie - to go live a “normal” life. He was giving me a chance to save people instead of being a slave to ones who would never be concerned with me. The ones who had others to take my place should I ever fail.”

“So, you aren’t the only Black Widow Russia had?” You try to suppress a shudder at the horrible train of thought that brings forth merciless Black Widows and unstoppable Winter Soldiers.

“Oh no,” Natasha’s smile sends a chill down your spine and the terror, you realize, lies in the fact that everything she’s known before is death, pain, and the intricate ways in which to bring out about both. “I am the only Black Widow.” You nod jerkily before her smile softens and she reaches out to squeeze your hand reassuringly.

The sudden change in her demeanor is what causes your own to shift so rapidly. It sets forth a stunning revelation for you - she’s always wearing a mask. And that hurts.

It’s not like Tony, who has Pepper - who has known childhood and just feels things too deeply - so he wears a mask to protect himself...gives himself over to the persona he’s carefully crafted of lofty indifference.

It’s not Bucky, who had a regular childhood - as normal as one can have during the Depression, you suppose - who didn’t want to fight but went to war anyway. Who was torn and broken and wiped to be a weapon and now wears a mask to protect himself from everyone who sees him as the villain. But even he can always fall back on his normal upbringing for the first twenty-something years of his life.

Natasha had none of that. Absolutely none.

The sudden sadness comes from somewhere unknown but you feel it settle in your chest, a tightness that grabs hold of your lungs and heart, nearly stealing your breath away. What sort of people could do that to a child? Who could damage a person in so many ways for their own gain? Making them a weapon with the threat of always being offed if you failed. Everything feels heavy now and so you do the only thing you can; you turn your palm up and squeeze back in reassurance.

Natasha is amazingly open after that, suggesting a walk in the zen garden for you to finish up your fluff questions.

“I’m gonna take December. Santa Baby references all the way.”

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Depends on the day. Some days I need a venti caramel latte with three extra shots. Sometimes you just need a strong black coffee with a little room for some cream and sugar. Some days call for tea,” She shrugs as she finishes. “Just depends.”

Natasha is doing a rundown of the things in Russian she’d taught while you pack up your things from the cushioned bench, patience leaking from her very pores at your continued mix-ups. When she suggests testing them out on Bucky, you just shake your head - any nearly drop the recorder before shuffling your laptop from one arm to the other.

“I think Sergeant Barnes is a tough nut to crack. A solemn, mostly silent, tough nut.”

“Clint is a nut. Tony, an armor encrusted nut. Steve, a nut with the inability to long-term date. Bucky is not a nut. He is mostly silent, but that’s just part of who he is. A little solemn-seeming around new people. But Sam and him? Goofballs with a penchant for insulting and pranking each other. Give him some time.”

“That’s great, by the time I leave he’ll actually warm up to me.” A sigh escapes you, shifting your closed laptop from one arm to the other once again as Natasha and yourself make your way back to the living room from the very tranquil zen garden. You’ll need some more pictures of there for sure.

“Barnes is a softie at heart.”

“Is that so?” You jump at his voice, although Natasha doesn’t, which doesn’t surprise you with what you know about her. You’re sure little surprises her.

“Yep. See you later, Y/N.”

“Yes. Thank you, Natasha.” You stand awkwardly in front of Bucky, wondering why you get nervous every time he looks at you - not a bad nervous, but a strong tingle in your belly and chest that seemed to put you off-center.

“Ready?” You ask, plastering on a big smile.

“Come on,” He gestures with a tilt of his head, waiting for you to join him. You close the few feet and he begins down the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“The woods.” He pauses when he reaches the patio, “Will the woods have too much noise?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” You step off the patio and onto the grass. “You coming?” Bucky rewards you with a smile, a wide one that showed off his teeth with little lines crinkling by the corners of his storm blue eyes.

Once you reach the tree line, Bucky takes the lead, leading you to a little clearing and you smile when you see more sunflowers growing on the other side of the space. There is a couple of wrought iron chairs with plush black cushions and a little upside-down wooden milk crate sitting beside one of them. The chairs are set to the side in the shade and you take a moment to appreciate the serenity.

“It’s beautiful, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky,” He corrects, shuffling from one foot to the other before gesturing you forward. Settling down in the chair beside the milk crate you set your laptop flat on your thighs, sitting the recorder on top of it.

“So, just to go over how it’ll work - I’ll ask you questions, you answer however you like. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. If you don’t like something I’ve asked, please don’t hesitate to let me know you don’t like it. Is there anything you don’t want to talk about, Bucky?”

“You can ask me whatever you like.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way.”

“Every other news agency, pretty much, has already written the ugliest and vile lies and truths about who I was, about what I’ve done...From what I read in your articles, from what I’ve seen from the others you’ve already talked to, I know you won’t do that. Ask me whatever you like.” After taking a deep breath, you give a reassuring smile and click the recorder on.

“Are you an animal lover?”

“Yeah. Steve and me keep trying to convince Tony to get a dog.”

“He won’t let you?”

“He just asked who was gonna take care of it when we’re on a mission for weeks on end, ya know? He had a point.”

“But you aren’t all on a mission at the same time, right? Someone here could take care of it.”

“Good counterpoint. We told him that too. He said he’d think about it. Still thinking apparently. Maybe just got lost in all those thoughts he has.” You hold out the recorder, wiggling it until he held out his flesh hand. You place it gently in his outstretched hand, reaching into your pocket for your little notebook and pen. You can feel his gaze as you scribble ‘Bucky/Steve need a dog. Mention to Stark. Repeatedly if necessary.’ A chuckle escapes his lips as he had leaned forward to see what you wrote, leaning back in the chair like before.

“Favorite guilty pleasure?” You set the notebook and pen on the milk crate as you smile brightly.

“Junk food. The serum speeds up metabolism, so we can’t get drunk unless we have some of that Asgardian stuff, so I can lay on the couch and eat all I want and then a couple of hours later do it all over again.”

“And that also bothers Sam, I venture to guess?”

“Yeah,” He’s smiling wide again, looking at the grass at his feet. “Mostly cause it’s his.”

“You steal his junk food?”

“He hides it bad!” Bucky defends with a laugh.

“Favorite weather?”

“Spring or Fall. I don’t care too much for the extra cold days we get in the winter here, but I like the familiarity of Brooklyn and New York, even if they aren’t my Brooklyn or New York. What about you?”

“I got heatstroke when I was in high school, so I’m wary of being in the sun for too long now. Otherwise, I’m good with just about anything. But I gotta admit I don’t care for the extra cold days either. And the ice! I hate ice.”

“Taken a fall, I gather?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely wasn’t pretty. Bruise all up my thigh and butt from how hard I fell and slipped a foot or so down the patch of ice. Limped back through the snow with my butt soaking wet and a nice wind blowing to add to the chill.” He’s trying hard not to laugh, flesh hand pressed hard against his knee while those little crinkles showed themselves again. “Go ahead and laugh. I’m tougher than I look.”

“Oh, I believe it.” Bucky laughs out finally, nodding in agreement while you admire the carefree laughter he’s engaging in.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“I usually just get it black after our morning runs...the menus just look so complicated now.”

“They really aren’t, you just gotta know your baseline.”

“Like?”

“Well, like lattes, iced coffee and most specialty drinks all start the same way - espresso. Espresso, plus whatever milk you want then you just add the flavorings you like. Experiment until you refine what you like and voila! Done.”

“And all that isn’t complicated?” Doubt is heavy in his voice, a smile still plastered on his too-handsome face.

“I’ve had years to perfect this narrowing down strategy, good sir. Coffee became a big thing right before I got into high school, so that’s the system I’ve been working with. When I was a barista in college, we would experiment with flavorings and shots and milk types, so that helped too. Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes,” It’s almost a groan like you’d just brought out a decadent looking dessert.

“Does Stark have an espresso machine here?”

“Yeah. Big shiny silver thing on a counter next to Clint’s giant ass coffee cup.”

“Okay, when we get done here, I’ll make you what I like and we’ll see how you like that.” That seems to get his attention, his large frame leaning forward, the silver recorder looking small balanced in his palm.

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Humm, well if I want it hot, then I can go a couple of ways - white chocolate mocha with a pump of milk chocolate and a pump of caramel or I just get a mocha with hazelnut, vanilla, and caramel. Iced? It depends on the mood I’m in. Sometimes I just order tea. Sometimes I don’t want coffee, so I do a frappuccino or something like that with flavoring but no coffee. Depends on the day.”

“All of that sounded like a cavity.”

“Makes you want it all the more, huh?” You tease as he lets out a little groan.

“Yeah, it does.” You smirk, self-satisfaction written all over your face at his admission.

“Do you have a hobby?” He rubs his vibranium knuckles along his very sharp jawline before giving a little sigh.

“No. My therapist says I should get one but I haven’t found one I like yet.”

“Does it bother you when people call you the Winter Soldier?” It’s like he senses the change in questioning before you even open your mouth, his eyes falling back to the yellowing grass of the clearing.

“Sometimes. I know I was him. I know I was a tool. But now I know I’ll always be Bucky first, so it doesn’t bother me as much. The Winter Soldier is a part of me - a part resigned to the darkest shadows of my mind, locked away where he won’t see the light of day again - but he’s always there. I know they made me do all those things. And I remember doing them…” Your hand falls naturally over his, giving the metal hand a little squeeze and a soft smile. His eyes go from your face to where your hand rests on his vibranium one, a perplexed look before his shoulders drop a little and relax at the gesture.

“Anyone who knows what they did, can’t honestly blame you for what they made you do. And I’m sorry some people are uninformed assholes.” You take back your hand as he thanks you softly. “Do you think the Raft could hold him?”

“Maybe. Ross designed it to hold the Hulk but I’m sure given enough time he could.”

“This whole facility is full of geniuses,” You laugh out as he shakes his head.

“I’m not a genius.”

“Didn’t the Soldier shoot through a wall, several walls, to get to Nick Fury? That takes some serious calculations to be able to do that.”

“I was a sniper before…”

“Snipers have a clear line of sight. He didn’t have that. Now, that may have been him, but I don’t think so. You can’t brainwash someone over and over and over again and have them retain difficult mathematics in order to shoot through things with no clear sightlines. You’re a whole lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.” A pink creeps onto his cheeks before he looks across the clearing. After a few seconds, his intense blue gaze returns to you, nodding his head ever so slightly to the right. You follow where he’d tilted towards, taking in the sight of two big bucks easing into the clearing. You’re cursing the fact you’ve left your camera...wait, where did you leave it?

“There is a camera under the milk crate,” His voice is so soft you barely catch it, slowly nodding before sitting your laptop on the ground against your leg and drop the notebook and pen beside it, leaning over to lift the milk crate extra slowly. Withdrawing the bag, you ease the zipper open and withdraw a very expensive looking camera. You click it on and raise it, snapping a few shots of the deer eating before they both look up at the pair of you. Seemingly unafraid they come a little closer, Bucky rises, handing the recorder back to you before he takes slow and measured steps towards them. The bucks aren’t disturbed by him and allow him to come close, his flesh hand slipping into his pocket before offering whatever it was to the male with the darker coat, repeating the same thing with the lighter coat buck. You snap the pictures greedily, nearly laughing as you realize there are actually three bucks in the clearing. He must have heard you soft breathy laugh since he turns towards you and cocks an eyebrow. You point to the deer, then him and hold up three fingers.

The eye crinkles return as he shakes his head with a grin. The deer both decide he doesn’t have anything more to give and return to their grazing on the edge of the clearing, and you snap a picture of Bucky walking towards you and when he realizes it, he scowls at you which just makes you click the button yet again with a big grin on your face.

“What was in your pocket?”

“Sugar cubes.”

“Ahh, buttering them up for a while I see.”

“You know it, doll.”

“Wanna continue, Mr. Disney Princess?”

“I’m not singing if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Damn,” You sigh out the curse before pursing your lips. “Okay, fine. I guess we go back to questions.” Waiting for him to settle back in his seat, you carefully zip the camera back up and are about to tuck it back in under the milk crate when he speaks.

“I’ll take that.” You’re about to hand it over when you pull it back.

“Promise you won’t delete the pictures I took of you.” His storm blue eyes stare at you intently, looking for something before he gives a little huff.

“Fine.”

“Any of the pictures of you, Mr. Barnes.”

Another huff. “Fine.” Handing over the camera bag, you hold the recorder aloft as you try to remember the line of questioning you had planned for Bucky.

“Do you miss the 40s? Did you want a normal life after the war was over?”

Bucky shrugs, sitting the camera bag beside his leg. “I miss my family. I missed getting to come home to them. I...I don’t know what would’ve happened when I came home from the war. I know I was different from it - even before Zola’s experiments. I wasn’t the guy who had a different girl on my arm every week anymore...and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be that anymore either. I was different. Steve was different. The world was gonna be different when it all ended. I don’t know what would have happened...I guess I would have dated, found a woman I liked and had a kid or two...but I don’t know, maybe I would’ve decided to go off to be alone for a long while after the war.”

“Is Wakanda as beautiful as they say?”

“Even more. Maybe I’m just partial ‘cause I got left alone for big swaths of time, so I could sit by a little lake and just watch. Sunrise is beautiful, but the sunset...wow.”

“If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go - and you can’t say Wakanda.”

Bucky chuckles as you blurt out the Wakanda bit before running his flesh hand through his hair. “I guess I’d like to go to some little island with all the amenities but no one else.”

“No one? Not even Steve? What about Sam? How will you get your junk food if not from Sam?”

“Definitely not Sam, but I’ll be sure to make a list of the food I want beforehand. Maybe Steve, but he’ll have to sit downwind since he’ll have to be smothered with sunblock. I can think of a few people I might let on my private island, but they gotta bring something to offer me.”

“Like payment?” A good-natured smile is on your lips as you shake your head.

“Yes. Silence and beautiful scenery come at a cost.”

“And what exactly would one need to bring you to gain access to this island paradise?”

“What would you like to bring me?” There’s a glint in his eyes, something flirting on his lips as he waits for your reaction.

“Coffee. And you’d have to take it however I decided to make it that day.”

“Deal. You’ll be allowed on my island,” He gives a nod as he grants his permission, making you press a hand to your chest with a mildly shocked expression which doesn’t last long as you giggle.

“Soooo kind of you!”

“You’re welcome.”

“If Stark does a superhero calendar, which month do you want and what are you wearing for it?”

“Why would he do a calendar? Wear for it?” You withdraw your phone from your pocket and do the same thing you’d done for Steve; You show him the Australian firefighter calendar with each one holding or posing with baby animals for reference. “Oh.” Pink suddenly graces his cheeks and his throat as you smile at him, enjoying his obvious flustered state.

“As another example: Sam’s wearing the tightest red shirt he owns and jeans but could be ‘persuaded’ to dress in a nice suit and tie. He chose August. Steve chose -”

“Steve?” Bucky snorts out his best friend’s name. “Okay. Lemme hear it.”

“Steve chose May with a nice suit and tie with flowers in the pocket instead of a pocket square. But I convinced him to change it to him in just a tee-shirt and jeans, sitting sideways and painting a field of flowers in front of him. He liked that better.” Bucky’s shaking of his shaggy brown hair makes you think it wasn’t the oddest thing he’d heard about his friend.

“Always an artist, I guess.” Bucky bites his bottom lip, gazing off to where the deer had been. “October.” He says after a long pause. “What would you suggest I wear?”

You know it’s an innocent question, but your heart kicks up a little when he asks it. Especially after all the banter you’ve been through with him.

“What would you be comfortable in?”

“A hoodie and jeans probably.”

“I’d have you go out of your comfort zone then...maybe a gray velvet blazer with black jeans and a black shirt...maybe pull your hair back like when you were in the gym yesterday morning, maybe a blue silver shirt to bring out your eyes...no, the black. It’s October. Maybe tuck a Halloween handkerchief into your jacket pocket.” His gaze is intense and it’s your turn to look away. “Just a thought.”

“I like it. If you were to do the calendar thing, what month would you choose and what would you be wearing?”

“Oh, um...Probably October. I love the fall. I think I’d either want to wear a black skater skirt with black striped stockings and a mauve shirt with a cute Halloween saying on it while I’m surrounded by leaves and pumpkins or I’d dress like Velma from Scooby-Doo.”

“Scooby-Doo is the one with the great dane who talks, right? Velma is the one in the purple?”

“No! Velma is the one in the orange and burgundy with the glasses! Educate yourself, Bucky!” He holds his hands up at your hostile tone.

“Sorry. Sorry!”

“Now, back to the hard questions...what is some 40s slang you’d like to see come back into use?” He shakes his head again, flashing those pearly white teeth as those too cute crinkles show themselves again.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

You hadn’t realized you had spent so much time with Bucky...not until Clint had come to get the both of you for lunch.

Bucky had mumbled an apology to which you brush off.

“I enjoyed it! And it helps me to build the picture I wanna paint for you guys. No biggie at all! I’m pretty glad you felt comfortable enough with me to talk that long.” He had walked beside you the whole way back, listening to you rattle off about work and how you wanted to set up the release of each interview with patience and a very kind smile that showed in those handsome blue eyes.

After lunch, you were handed over to the Wakandans who take you to a formal room that looked like it was only used for taking pictures with expensive friends and foreign dignitaries.

Holy shit. Down the fancy rabbit hole again...

T’Challa begins the interview with the opening of Wakanda to the world.

“Wakandan technology is far above the rest of the world,” He nods seriously at your beginning statement. “And you’ve made examples of people who have tried to steal your vibranium in the past - does this mean that you won’t be integrating even the most basics of Wakandan tech to the outside world? Or do you think we’re still too greedy to be trusted with that?”

“It can be seen that way. Wakanda has thrived because even though our tribes are different, we work together. Vibranium is ours. We, however, would help anyone who requested it. Shuri and the technology department have already helped a great deal with Nakia acting as an ambassador. We will continue to do so.”

“The suit you currently wear as the Black Panther absorbs energy, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So could you absorb Thor’s lightning and redirect it? And the same with Carol Danver’s abilities?”

“Yes, theoretically.”

“So the shield that Cap has, could also - in theory, do the same?”

“No,” Shuri interrupts. “Because his shield was not made the same way as the Black Panther suit, thus could not hold the energy long enough to redistribute it in any way.”

“Howard didn’t have your imagination. Or the abilities Wakandans have to spin it into fabric. Does it take a long time?”

“No, we have refined the technique for so long it is very easy.” T’Challa takes back over, Shuri giving a little huff at her brother.

“I’ve heard that Wakandan sunsets are the most beautiful in the world. Mr. Barnes seems to agree. You three would be biased, but I’m going to ask anyway. Is it the most beautiful sunset in the world?”

“Yes,” All three say at the same time, each one has this shining look in their eyes, seeing it in their minds like it’s happening right before them.

“The way you all said it - the way you all look right now, it must be truly magical.” You wiggle a little in the chair as all three exchange glances, pen trailing down the notebook to see your next question.

“Sergeant Barnes was taken to Wakanda after the Sokovia Accords bullshit,” T’Challa’s eyebrow raises but he says nothing as you continue. “Why did you allow this? If anyone learned you were harboring the most wanted fugitive in the world at the time, there could have been serious repercussions for you all.”

“What could they do to a poor, third-world country that most people didn’t know even existed?” Okoye cross-questioned, her eyes so sharp you know why she was chosen to be a leader. She’s got a scary strength in her.

“Excellent observation. No one would look there. Is that why you let Steve in also?”

“I think by then we figured, we have one broken white boy, why not add another?” Shuri pipes up with a big smug grin. “But Steve didn’t get half the treatment that Bucky did. Bucky had to have family dinners with us. My mother insisted that if he was to remain safe once he got better, he would need some help.”

“What kind of help?”

“We, for all purposes, adopted him into the royal family,” T’Challa confirms and honestly, if you had a drink, you’re about 90% sure you would have spewed it all over your notebook and yourself.

“I’m sorry, wh-what??”

“He was given titles so that he has all the same immunities that we share as royalty and as the Dora Milaje receives as bodyguards to the royal family. That way General Ross could not have him arrested for any of his past crimes nor any new ones he could dream up to put on the White Wolf.” T’Challa smiles at you. “I guess he did not tell you that.”

“No. I honestly didn’t have a clue about that.”

“He probably wanted it that way. He said they are just words on his passport and papers. Bucky is very thankful for them and for all he has received, yet he has asked me to remove them when we feel that it’s safer to do so...He thinks he is undeserving. He has had to die many times for his country, for the world, so I feel the least I can do is give him those words.” Okoye nods at her king’s words as you try to fight back the watering your eyes seem to want to do.

“May I ask why do you call him that?”

“The children who lived nearby began calling him that - said his hair was shaggy like a wolf, eyes sharp like a wolf. Thus that was what they called him.” Okoye answers as Shuri taps at her phone while nodding absentmindedly along with Okoye’s words.

“So, I want to ask, should I break all these women’s hearts who are going to read this by telling them you’re off the market, T’Challa?” He chuckles, eyes downcast but mirth evident in them as he rubs a hand over his beard.

“I am. Nakia will be my queen one day.”

“Gonna woo her like a regular guy? Breakfast in bed? Flowers? Or do you have like Wakandan rituals you have to do before you can get engaged? Similar to the British? Like she’ll need to meet the Queen and get her approval and adhere to the royal duties and ceremonies...like that? Or does she already know about that since her father is the head of another tribe in Wakanda? Does she want to deal with Shuri all the time?”

“Oooh - fighting words!” Shuri grins out at you before sticking out her tongue, which you return with childish glee.

“He freezes half the time he sees her.”

“Aww, really Okoye? That’s adorable T’Challa! You must really adore her for your brain to sort of blank like that. I think that’s wonderful. Everybody deserves someone to sort of freeze up and just stare at them like they’re that important.”

“Thank you. I wish that for you as well, Y/N.” He must take in your startled expression since his smile kicks up a few notches before his phone rings. “Excuse me.”

“Of course, your highness.” T’Challa scowls at you before leaving to answer the call.

“I need to go,” Shuri whispers, eyes darting at the door her brother just exited through.

You can see the cogs turning in her mind. You honestly hope it doesn’t involve more deer. “Book it!” You whisper back, watching her dart out the door. You turn to Okoye. “So, how do those bead things work?”

Okoye begins going over the basics when Shuri walks back in, dragging her feet before looking at you with the biggest grin while T’Challa comes in right after her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

“Mother is not happy you managed to prank M’Baku from this distance.”

“She should be concerned, our future is in both of your hands,” Okoye sniffs before shooting you a smile, the smile disappearing into what you’ve been referring to in your head as her “business face”.

Shuri retakes her seat, before ignoring both of the adults and tapping on her bracelet. “You asked how these works?” An enthusiastic nod is all it takes for her to show you how their bracelets work before she overtakes the interview, showing you just as many memes as Peter did, and even leading the discussion on the school system differences between Wakanda and everywhere else. She talks about her lab, T’Challa putting on a show of yawning as she goes on, and you ask her about how she developed the Black Panther suit to store, and then use, the energy wielded against them.

“What about potentially dating? Would they need to be as smart as you? Would they need to be Wakandan?”

“If I had to wait for someone as smart as me, I would die of old age. That’s not important to me right now, nor, I think, anytime in the immediate future. T’Challa is King and when he gets married, he can make all the heirs and I can be in my lab showing them all the embarrassing photos and videos I have of him.” T’Challa and Okoye both look on with matching expressions of relief/humor. And honestly, you can’t blame them. If she’s pranking someone from halfway across the world is any indication, they all have every right to be worried.

Okoye has said little the whole interview, but each word is as measured and weighed as the words you submit for the blog. She knows her value and you have to sort of stare in awe of her for that. A fearsome general who would die to protect her king, her country and the world. She explains her tattoos, briefly, and what she doesn’t add - Shuri is more than happy to fill in while T’Challa corrects her.

“And that’s how her husband got imprisoned…” Shuri adds as if this is the least important bit about the closed-off Okoye.

“You’re married?”

“My husband asked me to choose between him and Wakanda. It was not a difficult choice.”

The epitome of He Wasn’t Man Enough for Me.

“You went straight up Olenna Tyrell on him, didn’t you?”

“If a man ever asks you a similar question, think of myself and Olenna.”

“That’s life advice if I’ve ever heard it, Okoye.” You agree immediately with the general. “We should have t-shirts made!”

Shuri is typing furiously on her phone. “They’ll be ready in two hours.” Your mouth is open. Wide. 

Again.

The power of a genius teenager with seemingly unlimited funds…

“You must be careful what you say to her…” T’Challa voices as he rises from his chair. “And for the record, I would not do Tony’s fake calendar.”

“He would. He would like to be February.”

“Shuri!”

“It makes it all the more real, you know - moments like this… What do you think he’ll wear?”

“Probably traditional Wakandan clothes. But if you had Nakia on your side, you could get him to wear just about anything…” Okoye shares a devious smile with you as she stands from her seat, brushing an invisible (to you) piece of lint from her skirt.

“Have a good rest of your evening. We will see you at dinner, Miss Y/N,” T’Challa gives you a brief hug, his spicy scent reassuring in a way you didn’t understand and didn’t care to think too much about since it was comforting. Okoye giving a bright smile before trailing after her king, heeled boots clicking from the room with authority.

It’s the most dynamic interview so far since there are three strong people who all love their country with very strong ideals.

“You and the White Wolf seem to be getting along better…” She has a sly smile painted on her lips, making you give her a little side-eye as you finish gathering your things, closing the door firmly behind you before heading with her down the hallway back to the hub of the house.

“I would assume so. Bucky is a lot…,” You search for the right word. “Softer than he lets on.”

“Oooh, its Bucky now, is it?” She gasps dramatically, a smile stretched like a Cheshire cat.

“Princess, I have something to tell you -” You turn toward her with the most serious expression you have mustered since you set foot in the compound. “I don’t think you are ready to do spy or fieldwork. Your subtlety needs some work. Like, a lot of work.” Okoye snorts ahead of you, standing by the entryway, making your own smile widen as Shuri scowls at you.

“Got time for me tonight?” Tony calls out from farther down the hall headed towards the kitchen.

“Sure do!”

“Perfect! Right after dinner, then?”

“Sounds good to me,” You shout back, watching him give a thumbs up before disappearing back down the hall.

“So, what did you and Bucky talk about? Did he tell you about his goats?”

“He did. Also mentioned a nosy princess who helped him too.” You walk past where they stop in the living room, headed to the patio where Sam, Steve, and Peter are all standing, T'Challa heading towards the men as they watch Shuri stick her tongue out at you as you go to your room to start downloading the interviews and adding to your notes.

“Just a few days and she already has your number, sister.” T’Challa chortles, Sam’s laughter echoing alongside.

“Shut up, brother.”

It’s the last thing you hear as you hurry to your room with a big smile stretched on your face.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxxx::

“Interviewing Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man and the face of Stark Industries. Now, Tony, would you like to start with the fluff questions or get straight down to it?”

“Let’s save the fluff for the end, huh?” You swallow hard at his words, a tight smile dancing across his lips before disappearing. Settling a bit more into the dark brown leather chair of his office, you nod before glancing down at your list of questions.

“What was your ultimate reason behind pushing for the Accords?”

“I know we needed to be checked...held accountable if things went bad. I felt we could always go in and amend it later, but I saw what Ultron did, first hand and without Fury and SHIELD...who was gonna be able to hold us accountable?”

“But what led to the Accords was Sokovia, but the catalyst was Zemo posing as Bucky for the bombing, correct?”

“Essentially, yes. But even SHIELD answered to a higher authority.”

“And look what happened to SHIELD,” You counter, eyes just as sharp as Tony’s in the well-lit office. He sighs and you can see him working out where this is going, what question is next. “I don’t think that people who hide their faces should be trusted with the security of the world’s fate. But I don’t think you were wrong when you said you see a shield of iron protecting the world, but I think you need to see that the Avengers, the Guardians of the Galaxy...these are that suit of armor you wanted. People who have power but have never had to work for it -- sacrifice for it -- see others die because of it -- they honestly have no right to tell you if you’re in the wrong. You guys are the only ones who can.” Tony drags his fingers along his desktop before reaching for his amber drink. “I’ve seen your building acquirement. I know you spearhead the cleanups. I know you have bought buildings that have been damaged by not just the Avengers, but by HYDRA, the mafia, insurgents in the Middle East, and Yakuza. I’ve read other interviews with you - before and after your kidnapping. What happened to you in that cave and what happened to you when you pushed that nuke through that hole in the sky, they changed you, Tony. For the better, I believe.”

“You sound so...convinced.”

“And you aren’t? I’m as convinced you are a truly wonderful person, superhero, husband and father as you are convinced that Spider-Man is going to be the very best version of the Avengers you know he can be.”

“That’s a lot,” You can hear the emotion in Tony’s voice and you give him a watery smile in return.

“Do you think people should know about the existence of the Raft?”

“Look, that-it-it all boils down to secrecy. It boils down to some Area 51-esque shit. Should the nice lady working the night shift at the diner know? What would it change for her? Not a lot. It would just give people another reason to argue - give politicians another crusade to go after that will never have to produce actual fucking results and keeps everyone from going after the real problems we’re facing.” The frown he’s sporting makes you think you should have skipped that question, but the quickness with which he’s answering makes you think he isn’t exactly the Raft’s biggest fan either. “So, I’ll have to simply say that: Publicly, I agree. Personally, I think it’s chickenshit. But right now, the chickenshit is needed. Especially after the Snap, the Blip, whatever the fuck they call it...normalcy is what everyone is craving and it’s what they should have right now.”

“What sort of jelly do you use on yours and Morgan’s pb and js?”

“Strawberry preserves usually.” The tenseness seems to seep away a little, but you see you need to coax his mind to slow down a little more.

“Bowling or mini-golf?”

“Mini-golf.”

“Bubble bath or shower?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a bubble bath to relax. Showers are for getting clean.”

“So what do you do to relax?”

“Not a whole damn lot to be honest. I-I can’t seem to shut it off most days.” His fingers dance around the rim of his almost empty tumbler. “Mostly I push things aside to deal with them later so I can be in the moment as much as possible with Morgan and Pepper.”

“Craziest thing she’d done so far?”

“Pep and I went out for a date night. Left her at the Tower with Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Bucky, and Peter. Come home and a) she’s still awake and b) she’s hanging from the damn ceiling with Peter while Bucky shoots Nerf darts at the both of them while Steve cleans up all the scattered toys and was shouting that she needs to get to bed not be more riled up when we get home.” The softest smile is dancing on his lips, his eyes full of love and you know it’s not just for Morgan. “Morgan was squealing with joy, so I couldn’t really get angry. Especially when I saw Peter had layered his web fluid so if they fell or slipped, there was webbing about every two feet as a precaution. Plus they had the mats from the gym on the living room floor and Clint was sitting on the countertop, using those eagle-eyed peepers.”

“Craziest thing before that?”

“Last Christmas when Steve took her sledding down one of the hills in the compound, which turned into sled racing when Rocket and Thor got involved. Pep didn’t care for that. We built some bumps to be like a brake system the next morning. She still didn’t like it too much.”

You learn Morgan also likes it when Thor makes her hair stand on end and Groot gives her flowers.

“She’s with Pep’s mom and dad in California for a couple of weeks since they just got back from a cruise and haven’t seen her in a while. I miss her. Facetiming every day just doesn’t cut it.”

“Starting to get a little itchy - ready for her to get home. I get that. I adore my cousin’s children. Been around them nearly every day of their lives the first year. Then she moved to Idaho for a job and I didn’t get to see them again until they were almost two. She visits more often now, I’ve seen them every two weeks for the last four months. It’s hectic - but I love it when there are toys, crayons, and blankets scattered everywhere in my living room. When they leave, man, I swear I sleep for a whole day then just sort of sit around looking at the cleanliness with a little bit of disdain.”

“Luckily I have you lot to make a mess, so it doesn’t seem so bad right now.”

“Well,” you laugh, “That’s certainly one way to look at it. Okay, ready for more of the fluff?”

“Bring it.”

“How do you handle a bad hair day?”

“I’ve never had one in my life. Next question.”

“Okay, if you were to do a superhero calendar, which month would you be and what would you be wearing for it?” Tony shakes a finger at you, grinning.

“See, Rhodey told me about this question, so I’ve had some time to think about it...I’d say I would like to be June or July, what did Cap choose?”

“May.”

“July then. AC/DC shirt with a jacket and jeans, holding on of the older Iron Man masks under one arm. Fireworks in the background, maybe holding the shield. Really sell it, ya know.”

“If it was just you, no showing off...just something nice for Pepper.”

“September. It’s when we got married. What about you?”

“October.”

“Costume or regular clothes?”

“Depends on the photographer and how I’m feeling, I guess. Ideally, both. The favorite as the big picture and the other in the bottom corner or something.”

“You’ve had time to figure out your answer too, huh?”

“Sixteen interviews.”

“Sixteen? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Sam, Clint, Wanda, Bruce, Hope, Scott, Steve, Vision, Peter, and Rhodey. Natasha, Bucky, Shuri, T’Challa, Okoye, and you. Sixteen.”

“In four days. Like speed dating for a writer.”

“That’s what I told Sam!”

Tony walks you back to your room, discussing his favorite snacks, telling you what Monte Carlo is actually like before suggesting you go there on vacation with the dirtiest smirk you have ever witnessed first-hand. He then offers to let you try out a suit when Steve goes for his run tomorrow morning, which you feel a flutter of hope that you actually do get to do something like that.

He gives you a tender pat on your forearm when he says goodnight, leaving while whistling what you’re sure is ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ by Billie Holiday.

You stay up for a few hours over what you should, furiously typing up your interview with Tony when Amelina finally texts you the gif of Kermit on the typewriter with the words “GO TO SLEEP!” immediately under it. You sigh, rubbing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose, but you do as she bids, texting her first that she needs to get her ass to bed too. You finish it up with “Stalker” with the eyeball emoji. Shuffling into your pajamas and letting the plush bedding swallow and comfort you, mind still thinking of all the things you need to add to the interview piece.

And that’s how you drift off, thinking of a shield of Iron Man armor drifting around the Earth.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Someone is in your room far too early for your liking, poking you awake then ordering you into the bathroom. You sleepily realize it’s Tony before stumbling to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and managing to hop/change into a pair of black leggings with constellations all over and a dark gray t-shirt before returning to the bedroom.

“Don’t give me the glare pout. I brought coffee.” Tony has socks and shoes laid out for you and when you raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs then taps his wrist where a watch would be. Slipping into the shoes and socks as quickly as possible, he hands you a tall ceramic mug, bidding you to follow him quickly and quietly down the hallway towards his workshop.

When you get in, you see one of the earlier suits standing in the middle of the room and the butterflies in your stomach turn to little stones that sink and pile up when realizing what you’re about to do. The sweet coffee doesn’t help now that reality settles in. Are you really gonna do this?!

“Scared?” You can’t even manage words right now, so you just nod. “Good. Healthy. Smart, even.” He touches it, the suit open beneath his fingertips like a mechanical flower. “Come on,” He eggs. “FRIDAY and I are here to keep you safe.” You nod again, nerves or not eating breakfast - you aren’t sure which it is - is making you feel the first tendrils of nausea. “You don’t have to.” Tony offers the out, studying you carefully.

“No, I want to.” He helps you into the suit and just as it closes you hear him ask if you’re claustrophobic. 

“Maybe you should have led with that Tony!” Thankfully, though, you aren’t - well not with this you don’t seem to be. It is close around your body, but it’s not a crushing, tight sort of feeling you would associate with claustrophobia.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes. Did you just hear me yell at you?”

“Yes, but I ignored it.” You can see him move to stand directly before you. “Perfect. Wanna try walking first. Careful steps first so you don’t damage my floors.”

“If I eat shit in this suit?”

“Just gently push yourself up and get up like normal.” You do pretty well and Tony is smiling, watching like a proud parent. “Okay, let’s try hovering.”

“Hovering?!”

“Yeah. FRIDAY give her a little lift.”

“Yes, Boss.” Sounds in your ears softly before you hear a soft hum and feel the suit lift you from the ground.

“Holy shit,” You murmur, leaning forward and then backward to test the feeling of floating.

And just about that time when Steve comes in with Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey all in tow.

“Tony, do you know where -” He pauses, seeing Tony on the ground and the suit hovering a handful of feet off the ground. “Tell me she isn’t in there.”

“Okay. She isn’t in there.”

“Tony!”

“Steve!”

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Do they always argue like an old married couple?”

“Yes, Miss, they do.”

“Get her out of that thing!”

“She’s hovering off the ground Steve! Not being sent out to tackle an arms dealer!”

“Can you set me down, FRIDAY? I can see the vein in Cap’s forehead throbbing.” The boosters die down, FRIDAY setting you down gently before the helmet flips up. “Let me out please, FRIDAY.” The rest of the suit opens and Tony offers an outstretched hand with his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Listen, I don’t want to be the person to give Captain America an aneurysm, so we’re all going to the kitchen to have breakfast.” You start past Tony and when you get to Steve you reach out, patting his chest twice. “And pull the stick out a little, Cap.” Bucky snorts before following, Sam shaking his head with a big smile before following.

“You know, every day I like her more.” Rhodey chuckles out. “Come on you two, you heard the lady. Breakfast. Bucky’s probably volunteering to cook as we speak.” Both Avengers give each other a look before mumbling out half-assed apologies and all three men then headed for the kitchen and the sound of multiple peels of laughter.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

Bucky and Wanda make omelets as big as the freaking plates while Sam makes bacon and sausage, all of it is delicious - not to mention highly entertaining as Scott did a few magic tricks, making Dr. Strange arch an eyebrow when he pulled cards from his mouth. Dr. Strange and Wong lead you to the zen garden afterwards, Wong leading in a small meditation set before you begin the interview.

Wong is nearly as closed off as Okoye, giving you just shy of not much, so you chalk it up to the fact that secrets seem to go hand-in-hand with mysticism. He does tell you about Tibet and how Stephen got him to listen to Beyonce. He is also a devotee of Adele and Boston.

“Like to keep that one name thing alive, huh, Wong?” He just chortles, taking a sip of his strawberry hibiscus tea.

Dr. Strange goes over his life before the accident and about not returning to medicine.

“I thought that was important, being the asshole surgeon who was the best at everything, the smartest at everything. The accident took everything from me and I was willing to do whatever to get that back. To return to being me. The Ancient One showed me that there was so much more than me to see.”

Twenty minutes later and you and Wong are fighting back laughter. “He thought Dr. Strange was my ‘made-up name’ and not my actual given name.”

“To be fair, the doctor part was an add on. And he’s sort of fair in assuming that’s a made-up name...I mean he’s already met Captain America, Iron Man, War Machine, Falcon, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Black Panther, Scarlet Witch, and Ant-Man. Dr. Strange isn’t that much of a leap after that.” But honestly, you can see Peter doing that, and that’s why you’re still fighting back the giggles.

After a couple of hours with the magic-wielding pair, you have FRIDAY lead you to Pepper. She’s in her office, a white-walled space with homey pictures scattered on them while several vases of flowers adorn the top of a small antique-looking half-table painted in a dark blue. She’s in a soft pink button-up blouse with a pair of charcoal lounge pants, her hair up in a messy ponytail as she looks up from her laptop.

Pepper is the most comfortable with the questions by far, both serious and fluff, and navigates them both with wonderful tact and subtle humor. 

She talks about Stark Industries, about the Avengers, about her suit - Rescue. But you enjoy it most when she talks about Tony and Morgan. Her whole demeanor changes; her body seems to relax, her voice softens and her bright eyes get all the brighter.

“It seems like that’s the only time Tony is really, truly happy. And after I got him back...living our lives, being with each other and having a family - the simpler life...that’s all that mattered. I know Tony and I know he has a hard time shutting his brain off, but those five years while everyone else was struggling,” Pepper sighs, looking guilty. “I was having a life I dreamed about. It wasn’t complete - we had so many taken from us but we had each other. He was alive. That’s all I could have asked for. And then Morgan came along and I thought, maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe Tony won’t feel so guilty anymore. Maybe he’ll get some rest,” She smiles ruefully. “When people tell you about kids, they say you won’t be getting much sleep. But I was hoping she’d wear him out enough to sleep.”

She nearly brings you to tears when she talks about the fight with Thanos - how she almost lost Tony again - before she clutched onto his shoulder, Rhodey’s armored hand clinging to her’s, Clint’s hand gripping onto Rhodey’s shoulder and Carol holding onto his. Steve is on Tony’s other shoulder with Thor’s hand heavy on Steve’s shoulder while Sam and Bucky are holding onto each other’s hands while Peter grips Thor’s free shoulder hard and Natasha squeezes Peter’s hand reassuringly. All of the Avengers forming around Tony in the gauntlet, shouldering the sheer force of the stones so they all walk away together this time.

“And it worked,” Pepper’s voice breaks a little, the emotion, even three years later is high. “I got to keep Tony, Morgan got to keep her dad...the world got to keep it’s Iron Man. Natasha was brought back, everyone from the Snap was back - it was more than we could have hoped for. Tony, Bruce, and Shuri rebuilt Vision a little while after we rebuilt the compound. I - I just couldn’t have asked for more.”

The words seem to break you the second time around, sitting in your room, sobbing on the floor as the interview stops playing through your headphones.

You don’t hear the soft knock at the door. You don’t hear Bucky and Peter enter but you feel Peter pull you into a hug while Bucky strokes your hair, making you cry all the harder. When you’re all cried out, Peter lifts you from the plush carpet as Bucky saves and closes your laptop, setting it carefully on the desk as Peter tucks you into bed.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re all here. We’re all okay.” You’re nodding against your pillow, not knowing how he knew what you were sobbing over, these five days finally hitting you.

“I got her, kid. Go grab some water and some aspirin for her from the kitchen. Get an apple or banana too, she’ll need something on her stomach when she gets up.” Peter nods eagerly before squeezing your hand twice and disappearing from the room. “Want me to stay?” You manage a nod as he kicks off his boots and settles against the headboard. You turn to face him, reaching out for his metal hand, watching a sad smile flit across his face. “Get some rest, doll. I’m gonna stay right here.” He brings your hand to his lips, gentle and soft on the back of your hand. “Not going anywhere.”

An hour later, when Steve and Shuri are looking for Bucky, they find him sleeping slouched to one side but still mostly upright, with your hand wrapped firmly around his vibranium one.

::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx:::xxxxxxxxxx::

[PART 3]

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Tagging: @jewelofwinter @sgtjbuccky @jaamesbbarnes @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @stay-frosty-royal-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @marichromatic @blondecoffeecake @ourloveisforthelovely @whinywingedwinchester @feelmyroarrrr @rowdyhooliganism @everythingisoverrated @iloveyouthreethousand-o6 @puddinsqueen @emotionallysalty @maraudingmarauder

A/N: Found the pic online and edited it, props to Google and all rights/privileges/ownership goes to who took the photo and to Marvel who made up all these characters.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 2

Team Folly - with one exciting addition - returns to London.

“Was he serious?” Mellenby asked me later. “Eighty years?”

“Around about,” I said.

We were sitting up front of Aed’s cave, parked here for now while Nightingale was further down the slope towards the road, bossing the paramedics around. Of course that situation was very much ongoing, and someone had to get it under wraps, I had just naturally expected that to be me. I had offered to go into town and see everything squared away, give them some privacy to reunite in whichever... way they saw fit, but Nightingale had shot that down.

“I would rather not be left alone with him right now,” he’d said, tension radiating off of him. He hadn’t even asked for his staff again, so I just laid it across my lap as I sat.

I regarded David Mellenby with curiosity. I still knew very little about him: the scientist, dead no longer, and now a person who called my boss ‘songbird’ and seemed accustomed enough to getting away with it. He was watching the paramedics. The moor was pretty timeless in and of itself and had probably looked about the same in the 1940s, but the ambulances and the uniforms of the paramedics had to be, to him, a shrill discord.

“But he still looks the same,” Mellenby said, with the air of a man trying to wrap his mind around it all.

“Long story.”

He turned to look at me. He had large, clear eyes, not really the kind you expect on your classic mad scientist archetype. “Do tell?”

“He got old, and then younger again at some point. Or so I hear, I wasn’t actually around to see it then. Now he seems to be... stuck in his 40s. Not aging in either direction. It’s one of these mysteries.”

“So he’s about the same age he was when I last saw him,” Mellenby said, his curiosity evidently piqued. I had known this guy for all of five minutes, and I could already see the gears starting to turn behind his eyes. “Has anyone found out what caused it?”

I shrugged. In truth, I hadn’t asked myself this for a while now, my magical unaging guv’nor having become just another part of daily life, something I had long ago begun taking for granted. There’s a lesson in there about growing complicit, or something. “No, come to think of it,” I said. “Our cryptopathologist is trying to puzzle it out in his spare time, but honestly I don’t think Nightingale’s that bothered. I asked once and he just gave me the line about gift horses.”

Mellenby laughed, a sudden, high, loud sound that surprised me. Down the slope, I thought I could see Nightingale’s head turning at the noise. “Oh, of course,” Mellenby said. “Of course he hasn’t thought about it at all. That’s so Thomas.”

He continued laughing, way longer than the moment warranted, hunched over and his shoulders shaking, and soon there were tears dripping down his chin. He put a hand over his eyes, the other over his mouth, but nothing could contain the outpouring. “Take life as it comes and no need to examine anything, that’s Thomas. Oh, I thought I’d never see him again,” he sniffled, chuckling, sobbing, all at once. “I thought I’d left him there. Oh god, I thought I’d left him there.”

I shifted a little where I sat, not sure if I should touch his shoulder, or say something to him, or what I could even say. The slightly mad laughter subsided after a minute or so, but he was still weeping a bit when Nightingale eventually made his way back to us.

“Back to London, I should think,” he said and I got up, brushing some dirt off my pants as I did so, already relieved at the prospect of returning home. I suddenly couldn’t wait to see Bev tonight.

Nightingale shot a brief look at Mellenby, tossed him a handkerchief and off we went on the long trudge to where the Jag was parked.

----

It was funny, really, Mellenby’s reaction to the Jag. Similar to mine, back when, but coming at it from the other side. To me, the Jag had been (and was still) remarkable as an old-timer. To Mellenby, it was a futuristic sci-fi car.

“It’s from the 1960s,” I explained, because Nightingale was still giving us the near-silent treatment, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of him smoothing a hand across the side of the Jag in furtive appreciation, maybe secretly proud that his car impressed his... well, what? Comrade-at-arms? Best pal? Boyfriend? Ex?

Nineteen-sixty, Mellenby mouthed quietly, eyes wide and round. “And, um, what year is it now?”

I grinned and imagined him reacting to the Ferrari in a couple hours or so.

----

Suffice to say I had many questions for the both of them still, but the drive home didn’t seem to be the time for asking them. For a while, we had little traffic, and Nightingale utilized this opportunity to drive even more maniacally than usual. I swear, an open highway seems to unhinge something within him. I, having called shotgun to preserve the peace, was used to his speeding by now, but Mellenby in the backseat was, when I checked, looking paler by the minute. When he wasn’t holding on to the door-handle for dear life, he was staring, incredulous, out of the window, gawping at the brave new world.

We didn’t talk much. After 30 minutes it started to feel like somebody had cast a silence spell of some sort, like the silence was a physical entity growing larger and larger in the car between us, suffocating all attempts at conversation and about as solid as a block of cement.

We stopped at a gas station about halfway back to London. “Does anyone want anything from the shop?” Nightingale asked, the first words spoken since we’d started driving.

The proverbial spell had broken. “I’ve just woken up and found that near a century has passed in my absence,” Mellenby said, somewhat heatedly. “The cars, the people, even the bloody roads are unrecognizable to me. You punched me, and you used your magic on me like I’m some blasted Jerry, and you drive like an insane person, and now you’re asking me if I want anything from the shop?”

“I’d like a snickers,” I said.

“Alright, one snickers bar and that whole thing,” Nightingale said dryly. Without acknowledging us any further, he went off to get gas.

It’s a weird kind of atmosphere, sitting in a parked car with someone you don’t know. But there also was this strange air of ‘dad’s away, now we can gossip’. That one was probably just me, but I decided to carpe the diem.

“Jerry?” I asked.

“The Germans,” Mellenby said darkly.

We were silent for another minute.

“Thomas got even better, didn’t he?” Mellenby said then. “That was a tenth-order spell at least back there, and he executed it with ease. He didn’t even have his staff. This is highly fascinating.” He seemed like he’d pull out a clipboard any second now and start scribbling observation notes. But then he met my eyes and gave me a crooked smile, and his eyes were shining wetly again, and I realized he was trying to put a brave face on.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s impressive.” I didn’t even try to mention how that spell was used on him, and how said spell, while undoubtedly impressive, kind of creeps me out on principle.

“Why is he so fucking pissed at you?” I asked.

“He has a variety of reasons, probably.” Mellenby gestured resignedly. “Towards the end of the war, several things... went awry between us.” And that was all he seemed to want to say about that.

“So you’re Thomas’s apprentice,” he now asked me, leaning forward in his seat. “How is that going?”

I didn’t really know what to do with that question, so I said something about it going okay, thank you.

“And what sort of things has he been teaching you?” he asked.

This struck me as a bit odd. “Same stuff everyone used to learn, I guess,” I said. “Some formae and a truckload of Latin.”

“Greek?” Mellenby asked in an undertone.

“Not yet.” I shifted a bit. “Nightingale says I won’t need it that much, and to be honest, I’m still not doing as well with Latin as he’d like.” I suddenly felt that gross little prickle of self-consciousness about the state of my Latin. I do my level best, next to my day job, even when all the homework is frequently kind of dull, and by now I’m sure Nightingale knows that, and knows to exercise patience when necessary. But here was a denizen of the old Folly, who had started learning Latin at ten years old. Would he ask why I hadn’t? Would he make his own assumptions? He’s not better than you, I told myself. And I knew that. Thing was just, it might have gotten a bit nasty in here if he thought he was.

“I didn’t mean...” Now it was Mellenby’s turn to fidget. “What I meant to inquire was...”

Nightingale came back then and tossed me a snickers bar as requested, and so I didn’t get to find out what Mellenby meant to inquire until a while later. My attention was diverted from that, anyway, when I saw Nightingale attempting to stealthily pocket a small, square, red-and-white packet.

“I thought you said you stopped in the fifties,” I remarked.

“As you may have noticed, I’m having a bit of a day, Peter,” Nightingale said, perhaps a tad snippy, and, giving up all pretense of secrecy, just shook a cigarette out of the pack.

“Light you,” Mellenby offered hurriedly, already thrusting a hand up into the driver’s space.

“Don’t you dare, I have my phone on.”

“What?”

I leaned back in my seat and tried not to stare too openly as Nightingale actually, genuinely lit a cigarette, in a completely mundane, non-magical way using a lighter he had to have also just purchased. ‘No smoking in the Jag’ was high up on the list of Golden Rules of Jag Etiquette, even as it had never been an issue before. One hell of a day indeed.

----

We were taking Mellenby back to the Folly. For the time being, Nightingale said, making it clear that this wasn’t happening because his heart was so inclined, but because apparently Mellenby’s story still needed examining. We were going to have Dr. Walid take a crack at him at the nearest opportunity and, because we don’t do anything by halves, we would also swing by the military cemetery where Mellenby was supposed to be buried, and see what we could rustle up there.

“So we’re going grave-robbing?” I asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Of course not, Peter, don’t be ridiculous,” Nightingale told me. “I will get in touch with the persons responsible and acquire a permit to open the grave.”

Right. We were still the police.

“Did you ever see the body?” I asked. Mellenby had implied earlier that he had faked his death, and that there had been a body for poor Hugh Oswald to find, so if his story checked out, something (someone?) had to have been buried in his place. Nightingale shook his head.

“I missed the funeral. I was still in hospital.” His mouth thinned into a repressive line. “Nobody thought to tell me at all until weeks afterwards.”

“Why would they not tell you that?” I asked.

“I wasn’t family, Peter.” Nightingale smiled sadly. “I was David’s superior officer, sure, and a personal friend, but, in the eyes of the world, never more than that. The... queer thing only stopped being a crime punishable by jail time twenty years later, mind you.” He looked at his hands folded in his lap and I realized that I’d just been subject to my boss coming out to me. Not that I hadn’t ever suspected, but it had never been put into words.

“Oh,” I said, “Okay,” I said, and it felt like the most inadequate statement in the world.

----

But first things first: Molly froze on the spot when we walked into the atrium with Mellenby. She just stared at him, and then stared at Nightingale, and then she hovered, a bewildered expression on her face.

“Ah, yes,” Nightingale said. “Molly, you will remember... David.”

“Hi, Molly,” David chirped. “It’s good to see you again!”

Molly looked from him back to Nightingale again as if wanting to say explain this. She raised her hand, index and middle finger extended, and put the fingers to her temple, very efficiently pantomiming the obvious question she had. I wondered if Molly had had to clean up the laboratory... after.

“Well,” Nightingale said, giving her a strained smile. “Apparently, no, he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry for giving you grief, Molly, Thomas.” Mellenby looked down at his feet, abashed. “I would’ve come back, you know. If I could’ve... if I’d known.”

“Oh, would you have?” Nightingale asked, in that tone he reserved for statements such as “So Johnson does rather believe that about women wearing veils?” or “Tyburn did say that, didn’t she?”

Molly drew up to her whole height, an impressive thing to watch, and gave Mellenby a scathing glare before she brushed past him and off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh dear,” Mellenby said, fighting to keep a wavering little smile up. “Now two people are mad at me.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Where’s everybody else?”

Nightingale gestured at the atrium, empty of anyone but us three. “This is everyone. Well, Abigail comes around once a week, but she’s not a full apprentice yet. Nobody else stayed active, and certainly nobody else started aging in reverse. It’s myself and Peter and Molly.”

I watched Mellenby work through that. How for a moment he looked lost, and small, and stricken, and then attempted to straighten his back and push the weight of that down. “And me, now,” he said. “I’ll return to duty. I’ll help in any way I can.” He tried to take Nightingale’s hand. Nightingale slapped it away, maybe a bit too forcefully.

“You will be doing nothing of the sort until I’ve corroborated your story,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I will be heading downstairs later and forge you a pair of inhibitor cuffs.”

David looked at him, still grief-stricken around the eyes. “You use inhibitor cuffs?” he asked. “But they are... a German invention.”

“You would know about German inventions,” Nightingale said, really almost hissed, and there was so much vitriol in it that I didn’t dare ask what that meant. In fact I got the hell out of dodge.

----

I went into the tech cave to check HOLMES for anything we might have missed while out of town. I didn’t turn up anything recent that looked like one of our cases, and I had no missed e-mails or calls except for a text from Bev asking if I would be home tonight. I replied in the affirmative and headed back to see where else the day might take me.

I heard voices from the reading room and was about to open the door and announce my presence when I heard Mellenby say, “So, an apprentice, Thomas. Does he put out?”

Oh, I thought, at the same time as Nightingale replied, in the most incredulous voice I’d ever heard from him, “What?”

There was a dagger in that word.

“Come now, he’s a handsome young man,” Mellenby said.

“And?” It only occurred to me much later that Nightingale hadn’t denied it.

Mellenby sounded apologetic when he said, “One’s given to assume.”

“Well, don’t,” Nightingale said. “My relationship to Peter is a purely professional one, and also none of your concern. But while we’re on the subject, there’s something else I’d like to discuss.”

“Yes?” Mellenby asked.

I heard faint rustling, like someone shifting in their seat, and I could just imagine Nightingale sitting up straighter in the way he does that conveys ‘let’s get down to business’. “Many things have changed while you were away and Peter is, as you heard, my apprentice, with all rights, privileges and obligations that entails, and he has been my second-in-command here for the past four years. He’s not the help. If you are to stay here, I will see to it that you treat him with the respect you would have paid to any practitioner of the Folly. I especially don’t want to hear any comments with regard to his skin colour. There is also a plethora of words and phrases that were in usage back when you went off to have your somewhat lengthy nap which I will not hear used in Peter’s presence, or even in his absence.”

I knocked on the door and went in before Nightingale could start listing them. The two of them were seated in armchairs, across from each other and separated by the table between them, not close and certainly not touching.

“Hey, sir.” I ignored Mellenby, who wasn’t making a load of friends here. “I checked HOLMES, nothing new for us.”

“Well, I’m sure something will be along,” Nightingale said in that wry way of his. “It does give us the whole afternoon to visit Abdul.”

I noted the us. “You want me to come?”

“Not necessarily.” Nightingale gestured Mellenby’s way. “I thought I’d just take David.”

“Right.” I nodded. As this had been a unit of two since the start, I was used to we meaning Nightingale and I. That we could also mean Nightingale and David now was... novel. For me. Not for either of them, probably. They might have done we for a good long while, and were simply picking back up where they left off.

When I left the room, I heard Mellenby say, “And you’re sure you two are not making it?” and caught the beginning of Nightingale’s incensed negative before I decisively walked away from all of that.

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t)--Part 6

Hello guys! It’s been a while since the last installment of this and I thank you for your patience. I’m terrible at writing angst and this chapter is filled with it, so it took me a while to write it. But it’s here and I’m proud of it and it’s long, so hopefully that makes up for the wait. It begins during Infinity War and I made a few changes to the movie, so, there’s that. I hope you guys enjoy it! :)

Read Part 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 here!

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

Tony’s been questioning every choice he’s made in his entire life ever since they’ve infiltrated this stupid space donut, hurling two hundred miles an hour towards uncharted intergalactic territory.

He knows in his hearts of hearts that this is a one way ticket, there’s no possibility, not a chance in hell that his feet will ever touch solid ground—Earth—ever again. He’s never going to see Pepper’s smile, smell her perfume, hear her laugh. He thinks of the last conversation they had, the thought of a unknown child, the thought of the future. The thought of Peter playing with a small ginger haired kid, with his eyes and Pepper’s nose and her penchant for making him be better, want better. He thought of Peter and the kid working towards his final years in high school, already picking out colleges and making plans for his future.

All of that went up in smoke when he followed this flying saucer and the world was at risk again. His world—Pepper, Peter, Happy, Rhodey—was in danger and he mourned the loss of that future for a second and then all thoughts of children and wedding venues left his mind and it was set on saving the world. For Pepper. For Peter. For Rhodey. For Happy.

And that kid—that frustrating, eager to please, always ready to save someone even if it means his life—shows up, with his movie references and his big heart and his penchant wanting to save everyone in trouble.

The dread that had settled like lead into his stomach since boarding this giant space ship increased ten fold when Peter Parker came out of the shadows and punched his one way ticket to space with no certainty of return.

But seeing Peter, a kid, his kid for all intents and purposes, with an entire future a head of him, stand there in the middle of a space ship hurtling them further and further away from Earth—which was safer by a bigger margin than this level of unknown, foreign territory they were currently in  —and marvel at his surroundings lit a fire of determination to get that kid back home, back to his aunt, whole and happy.

Even if it meant he didn’t get to go with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Their plan was going to work.

It was shaky and risky, at best, but this Mantis was sure she could subdue Thanos enough so they, Peter and Tony, with combined forces, could get the gauntlet off and kill Thanos and not just save the world from almost complete eradication, but they could go home.

Home

Tony believed in this plan because he had to. He had to believe that he was going to get a chance to save Peter, who was torn between watching a twitching Strange as he filtered through all possibilities, all the outcomes of their victory and observing Titan with awestruck eyes. He had to believe that at the end of this, Peter was going to get to walk away from it, unscathed and go back to Earth, home to his aunt May and his friends and live as normal of a life as he could. One that didn’t involve intergalactic war-zones and aliens hell bent on imposing their will on the entire universe.

“Do you think this is going to work?”

Tony looks down at Peter, dressed in the IronSpider suit he’d designed for him when the thought of something horrible happening to this kid kept him up at night, the same suit the kid turned down weeks later when it finished because he wanted to continue to look out for the little guy and Tony hasn't believed in God for a number of years, but he finds himself praying to any deity that will listen, that he can get this kid through this.

He looks nervous, scared, but there’s a determination in his eyes that gives Tony the confidence to look his kid in the eye and reassure him.

“It’s going to work, underoos.” He says, putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, give it a squeeze and through the armor, he feels him relax, like Tony’s assurance was all he needed to believe. In himself. In them. In this plan.

“Okay,” Peter says, blows out a breath and when he meets Tony’s eyes again, all his fear and nerves are gone. Replaced with a confidence and a fire that makes Tony feel even more determined to prove to Peter that his  words deserve the blind trust Peter places in them.

And when Tony hears Strange announce that there’s 14,000,605 possibilities, alternate futures and outcomes that can stem from this fight for their lives, he’s almost afraid to ask the number of times they can win, but he’s Tony Stark and he will forever put more stock into numbers and statistics than any prayers one can utter, he asks anyways.

“And in how many of those outcomes do we win?”

Strange’s lips form a grim line when he replies, “One.”

One

He feels Peter tense beside him and the sober air turns even more foreboding at this revelation, this new piece of data and Tony wonders if they were better off not knowing.

Because out of fourteen million scenarios, they only win in one.

Which means they have 0.000007% of winning.

And, when Tony looks around, that means that at least half of them are going to die for that one chance they have in saving the entire universe.

He looks to Peter and he makes peace with the fact that he’d happily be put in that half that dies trying if it means Peter is in the half that lives.

One

One chance to save this kid that’s engraved himself on Tony’s heart and who Tony would do anything to protect, give up everything to protect. Pepper, Happy, Rhodey, the hypothetical child that he dared let himself dream of having because of this kid, standing next to him.

And Pepper, bless her, would understand.

Because despite it all, Peter was his son.

And he would give anything to give his son the one chance to go home.

So he placed his faith in science and numbers and his technology that his son would be in that half that got off this red wasteland and let this day become a memory.

He has one chance

~~~~~~~~~~

It was working

Their plan was actually working

It was working, they had it, the gauntlet was coming off, just a little bit more to go and then—

Snap

The fighting stopped, an eerie silence settled over the forgotten planet and they braced themselves for the promised awful that was to come and then—

Strange went first, falling to his knees and gasping as if he couldn't breathe and then—

His body began to break down and disintegrate, floating off into thin dust particles and then he wasn't there.

Tony whipped his head around, eyes wild as he watched as it started happening to Quill, Mantis, Drax—their bodies began to turn to ash, until they disappeared into thin air and then nothing.

“M—Mr. Star—Tony— I-I don’t feel so good.” Peter gasped and Tony turned his wild eyes to Peter, who was falling to the ground but Tony grabbed him before he could, falling to his knees with the weight of Peter and he tried to ignore the fact that it already felt like dead weight

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tony panted, trying to hold back the panic, “You’re okay, it’s okay—“

Not Peter, please not Peter

Peter’s brown eyes were wide with fear and panic and Tony’s hand shook as he held the kid tighter, “I-I don’t want to go, please Tony—“

“You’re not going anywhere, it’s okay—“ Tony tried to sooth through blurry eyes.

“I’m scared Tony—please-d-don’t let me go—“ Peter pleaded, his eyes begging Tony to fix it.

Not my son, not my son, please not my son

“Stay with me Pete—no don’t close your eyes, bud, please—“

Peter’s cheeks were wet with tears and Tony could feel his legs begin to disintegrate, ignored the way he felt lighter and the ash that began to float in the air where parts of Peter’s body used to be.

“I-I’m sorry, Tony, I-I tried—“

Tony was trying so hard to not let his tears fall but his heart was reaching unhealthy levels of panic, “You did so good, bud, I’m so proud of you.”

Peter gasped and his face began to blur and Tony wanted to scream, “Peter, I’m going to fix this—Pete stay with me bud—“

“—Tony—I—“

No nonononononoo

“—Pete? Please, buddy, you gotta—“

“—I’m sorry, Tony—“

Peter’s hand was gone, his brown eyes closed and his body—the ash that was Peter—drifted away and Tony screamed in agony, his tears mingling with the sweat and blood and his heart felt like it was going to shatter and disintegrate right along with Peter’s body.

Peter was gone

He was gone

It was supposed to be me

~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn't know how long he floats in space, he knows the number is upwards of twenty-something days, and all he could think about was how he wishes, more than anything, he would've floated away in the wind with Peter.

He didn’t want to leave Titan, Peter, it had taken Nebula physically shoving him in what remained of the space doughnut and forcing tools into his hands to get it up an running, handing him a purpose, to get him to leave. They managed to get it running, enough to get off Titan and headed towards open space and if Tony didn’t feel like he was leaving a piece of him behind, he would be staring out at the planets and galaxies with wonder.

For someone who was more computer than human, Nebula was observant and kept her distance from Tony for the first few days, allowing him to wallow in his own grief and regret. But as the days wore on, the ship needed repairs and despite the growing bleakness of their situation, the low food and water supply, Tony was grateful for the distraction.

They were a good team, Nebula was calculating and matter of fact, knowledgeable with mechanics and computers and the foreign mechanisms used in a space ship.

But she wasn’t Peter.

And even up to his elbows in foreign mechanics and spaceship guts, he couldn't help but think of his days in the lab with Peter. Everything reminds him of Peter and it makes his chest ache and his eyes sting.

“Was he your son?”

It’s day fourteen and Tony’s up to eyeballs in the ship’s main engine, screw driver between his teeth while he attempts to rewire the main power source to give them the extra boost they would need to get them home. The question makes him pause and the wire in his hand short circuits, shocking him and he curses under breath at the burnimg sensation it leaves behind.

The question is simple, but the answer is complicated and complex and everything in Tony aches. He wants to go home. He wants to find that purple bastard and bash his head in until his blood stains the orange dust on that wasteland of a planet. He wants to turn back time and never allow Peter on this ship. He wants to go even further back and stop that god forsaken spider from biting Peter in the first place. He wants to trade places with Peter, he wishes that it was him who turned to nothing, not Peter.

Never Peter.

He just wants Peter.

He’s gone beyond the normal social standard of time one has to answer a question when asked, but Nebula either didn’t notice or care, just watching him intently from her own project across from him.

“Yes,” he said eventually, fiddling with the wires again, the burn on his thumb smarting and it distracted against the other wounds that were throbbing in synch with the beat of his heart, “he—Peter—he is mine. Not biologically speaking, but yeah, he is—was my son.”

Nebula cast her eyes downward, “I’m sorry my father has caused you so much pain.”

Tony eyed her for a moment, considering, “I’m sorry you had to call someone so ugly ‘dad’.”

He didn’t mean it as a joke, but Nebula gave a sinister hiss that resembled an incredulous laugh, “He was no father. Thanos might have taken me and called me his daughter, but he wasn't a father.”

“And I thought I had Daddy Issues.” Tony muttered.

Nebula gave him a odd look and he realized his joke was lost on her.

They settled back into silence and their respective projects.

When stands Tony stands to go forage for food in their dwindling supply, he pauses, turning to look back a Nebula, who's diligently mapping out their route home and he has to clear his throat from disuse.

“I’m sorry your father has caused you so much pain. I know what he did to your sister and I’m sorry.”

Nebula pauses, the map above her spinning and twirling in order to find their best option home and she stares so long at it, Tony wonders if she’ll even respond.

Just as he’s turning to leave, he hears Nebula speak, “She wasn't really my sister, you know. Thanos took her, like he took me. He murdered my family, her family and all my other siblings families. But he saw something in us worth keeping. And I hated my other siblings. I hated Gamora, too. Thanos—he would make us fight against each other, preparing us for battle. And she would always win. Always. And every time she did, he would replace a piece of me with metal and armor. An upgrade, he called it. I hated her for it. But she protected me, in the end. She fought for me and she saved me.”

She looked up at him and for a moment, Tony could see his own pain reflected in her eyes, “She wasn't my sister. Not by blood or biology, but I will avenge her death if it’s the last thing I do.”

Tony feels the same need for vengeance in his chest and it burns almost as much as the ache in his chest that was left behind the minute Peter disappeared in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~

They’re out of food. They ran out of water a day ago and the hope he had at the beginning of the journey home disappeared around the same time they ran out of supplies. Their ship is in shambles and they’re floating among the stars aimlessly.

Tony feels the hunger pains in his stomach, the dryness of this throat and the chill that has settled over the inside of the ship. He can no longer feel his toes or his fingers and he wonders, idly, what will kill him first. The lack of food, water or the cold.

He’s never felt this level of helplessness before. Not since the cave and even that situation didn’t seem as dire as this. At least in Afghanistan, he was on Earth and closer to human life, closer to a chance of a rescue attempt.

But here, floating further and further away from Earth, millions of millions of miles away from any human life form, the chance for the calvary to recuse them were very slim.

Fatigue settles into his bones and he closes his eyes, resting his head against the glass window of the ship. He feels a numbness that has nothing to do with the freezing temperature. He just wants it all to end. The hunger, the thirst, the hope, that maybe, maybe help his coming. The hope that maybe this is all just a nightmare and he’ll wake up from it. He knows what it’s like to have nightmares this real, to be trapped inside his own mind and he hopes that this is just a nightmare.

Hope, Tony thinks to himself dazedly, what a debilitating and crippling concept.

He slips into a fitful sleep and a part of him hopes that this time, he won’t wake up.

Hope

What a cruel and bitter bitch.

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

Someone was nudging him.

That was the first thing Tony registered as he woke from the memory of Peter pleading for his life. The taste of failure was bitter on his tongue and he swallowed, wincing at the sandpaper texture of his throat.

He blinked up at Nebula, who was kneeling over him with a mild look of disgust on her face, “What?”

Nebula gave a sound which sounded both relieved and annoyed, “I thought you were dead.”

Tony rubbed his eyes and sat up, wincing at the ache in his bones, “Sorry to disappoint you, Blues Clues, but I’m very much alive and well.”

Nebula hissed in what was annoyance, Tony was now sure, “I do not understand such a statement.”

“Blues Clues? The little blue dog that’s always accompanied by a vaguely suspicious man who likes to spend a lot time around children and make believe characters?”

Nebula merely blinked, “Are you intoxicated?”

Tony snorted, “I wish,” he muttered, “Now why did you wake me up?”

Nebula nodded out the window and Tony followed her gaze, wincing against the bright gold light that lit up the dark void that was this area of space.

“What is that?” He demanded, scrambling to stand up, because yeah, that orb of light was heading right towards them.

“I do not know, but it’s heading right for us and this ship can’t take much more.”

Tony swallowed heavily, glancing over to his beaten and battered suit that was slowly turning into a crude version of an Iron Man popsicle. His heart was racing in his chest, his mind was a blur and he had no idea what they were going to do if that thing made impact.

He opened his mouth to ask, plead, beg, scream, he would never find out because whatever that glow-y thing was—an orb, a meteor—was knocking on their door.

Nebula reached for the gun at her hip and she cautiously made her way over to the entrance of the ship, opening the door slowly and Tony swore he was hallucinating because okay, that was a woman, who was glowing and currently suspended about a trillion feet above earth like it was an every day occurrence.

“Who are you?” Nebula demanded, raising her gun at the woman.

“I’m Carol Danvers,” The woman replied, completely ignoring the gun being waved in her face, glancing around the cabin of the ship until her eyes land on Tony.

“Tony Stark,” Carol Danvers said with a small smirk, “You’re a hard man to find.”

“I’m sorry, but I missed the part where we know each other, you’ve been absent from all the super-hero meetings.” Tony said, giving her a wary glance over.

Carol smirked wider, “I’m more of a one woman operation.”

“Oh well, I appreciate the whole lone ranger thing, but what are you here for?” Tony said, leaning back against the wall of the ship. He was beginning to feel dizzy from all the standing, his knees were shaking and his body felt weak to the point where he wanted to sit down and sleep for a million years.

“To bring you home.” She said, her voice softening, concern lighting her eyes as she watched Tony slowly collapse against the wall.

Home

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

When the ship landed, Tony couldn't bring himself to look out the window, couldn't bring himself to hope that this wasn't another dream, that this was real. He wasn't floating, lost in some dark void of space. He was here, on earth, at the compound.

Home

The mouth of the ship opens slowly and tears fill his eyes at the sight of the tops of the trees, the smell of pine filling his nostrils and when it finally lowers, he sees Pepper first, followed by Happy and then Rhodey.

His heart fills to the brim with joy and he hardly believes what his eyes are seeing.

And then his eyes land on May Parker among the ones to welcome him back and something in him shatters at the hopeful expression on her face.

Peter

He collapses when he takes his first step and he just lets himself fall, but strong arms wrap around him and knows without even looking that it’s Steve fucking Rogers that catches him.

He keeps his eyes on May and watches the horror fill her eyes, along with the tears and he breaks.

“I lost the kid,” Tony whispers brokenly, “I lost the kid.”

Steve’s grip tightens around Tony and for the first time since the kid turned to dust in his arms, a sob rips through Tony’s throat and he feels the absence of Peter like a stab to through the chest.

He made it home and Peter didn’t and that fact hurts worse than any blow ever could.

I’ll keep him safe May, I promise.

Nothing will ever happen to him.

May Parker’s hysterical sobs match Tony’s and it rips the remaining shreds of Tony’s heart to pieces.

“God, Steve, I lost the kid.” Tony says and it hits him, now just how permanent that is.

I lost him

My son

He’s gone

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony stays in the hospital for two weeks.

Bruce wanted him to stay longer, but Tony ignored the protests and checked himself out of the medical wing and he wants to disappear for a while.

He knows the others want to start talking strategy, to devise a plan to reverse the damage, to find Thanos and make him pay for what he did.

But Tony just wants to disappear. He doesn't want to think, he doesn't want to talk about Thanos and space and stones and what could or couldn't happen if they gather all the stones.

The only thing he wants is Peter and he can’t have that.

His first stop when he’s out of the medical wing is to stop by the bar and grab the oldest and biggest bottle of scotch he can find, not even bothering with a glass that has dust settling around the rim from lack of use.

He’d tried to be the father that he’d always wanted and that meant being sober. As long as he had Peter in his life, Tony hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. He never wanted Peter to pick up the habit and he never wanted to be intoxicated in case Peter ever needed him.

Something like guilt settles in the pit of the stomach, but the reminder that Peter isn't here and won’t ever be around again, hits him like a shot to the gut and he unscrews the bottle and takes a long pull, wincing at the burning in his throat.

He wanders through the compound, through the hallways and down corridors that he doesn't recognize and he takes long pulls from the bottle and finally, his feet take him to the lab.

He’s unsteady on his feet and the bottle’s half empty, but the ache in his chest has yet to lessen and Tony stumbles into the lab table, catching himself on the edge of it and righting himself.

He looks at the lab through blurry eyes and so many memories swirl in his brain, the kid sprawled out on the couch, up to his nose in homework. Peter leaning over his web shooters, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Peter’s bright laughter when he his web formula exploded over both of them. Peter’s excited science babble. Peter complaining about the level of Metallica and Tony admonishing him for not knowing his classics.

“It’s AC/DC there bud, respect the classics.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I think you need to let go of the classics, it’s hurting my ears.”

“I knew I’d find you in here.”

Tony startles at the voice, looking up at Steve Rogers leaning against the doorframe of the lab and watching him with a guarded expression.

Tony has to blink several times to get the extra Steve’s to go away and he straightens himself as best as he can, still leaning against the lab table for support.

“What do you want, Rogers?” Tony demands tiredly, taking a swig from the bottle still dangling in his hands.

“Everyone’s looking for you, we’re worried—“

Tony scoffs, “Like any of you care.”

“Of course we care Tony, it’s why we’re here.”

A bitter laugh slips through Tony’s lips and he shakes his head, “Oh yes, you all care so much. Tell me, Rogers, did any of you care when you left me with a broken suit in the middle of fucking Siberia? I don’t recall any of you weeping at my bedside while I wasted away in a hospital bed for two months after Cho had to reconstruct my sternum from your little shield, on top of the hypothermia and frost bite.”

Steve winced, opening his mouth to protest, but Tony had been waiting for this moment for almost two years, he wasn't going to have it taken away from him now, “Or how about Rhodey? Not one of you reached out to him to see how he was doing after your little ant buddy paralyzed him from the waist down. You know it took almost a full year for him to learn how to walk again? And that was after I had to spend months perfecting the technology to do so. You left me with a flip phone and a note that wasn't any form of an apology and you took almost everyone I had ever cared about away from me.”

Tony laughed, “So why now Steve? Did your little buddy get snapped along with the rest of the others? Am I supposed to come up with another plan to save his ass when he’s done nothing but destroy any family I ever had? You knew he murdered my parents and you kept that to yourself. You were supposed to be my friend ,too. Or was I just a place holder until you could find Barnes?”

“Tony—“

“So screw all of you, every single one of you. Because none of you cared then and none of you care now.” He took a swig from the bottled and collapsed into one of the chairs and put his head in his hands.

God, he was drunk. And tired. So tired. He just wanted to curl up on the couch in the corner of the room and fall asleep. But he knew what would be waiting for him when he did. And he couldn't spend another night reliving Peter’s death. He couldn't do it.

A hand settled on his shoulder cautiously, and Tony shook it off.

Steve sighed, shuffling backwards to give Tony his space, “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone, Tony.”

Tony stood up so fast the room spun and he had to grip the table for balance, “Don’t,” he warned lowly through gritted teeth, “don’t you dare go there, Rogers.”

“Tony, we lose good men and women in battle, it’s hazards of the job—“

Anger like Tony had never felt before swelled in his gut, hot and unyielding and before he could even think, the bottle that was on the table next to his hand was in his grasp and thrown at such a speed across the room that even Steve the super soldier almost missed it. It shattered against the wall and the scotch splattered everywhere and Tony couldn't even bring himself to care.  

“PETER WAS MY SON! HE WAS A CHILD, NOT ONE OF YOUR GODDAMN SOLDIERS! SO DON’T TELL ME THAT IT’S A HAZARD OF THE JOB, ROGERS, BECAUSE PETER DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE!”

White hot pain flared in his chest, an ache so deep Tony felt like he couldn't breathe. He collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands, feeling the wetness on his cheeks and he realized he was crying.

“Peter was—he was my responsibility, I was supposed to protect him—and I—I couldn't save him,” Tony whispered, his voice cracking, “he just—disappeared and he was so scared and I couldn't save him, there was—there was nothing I could do. And he’s gone and not coming back and I—I shouldn't be here, he should be here—“

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice gentle, “it wasn't your fault.”

“He wasn't supposed to be there! He wasn't supposed to get on that fucking ship! He was supposed to stay here, to be here, with his aunt and looking after the little people, he never—he never wanted this,” Tony said desperately, waving his hand in a vague gesture and Steve understood.

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice still low, calm, “it wouldn't of mattered if he was here or in space, with you. He would’ve…disappeared, regardless. We don't know why it only affected certain people, but either way, losing Peter wasn't your fault. The only person to blame is Thanos and the only way to get Peter back is to figure out a way to reverse all of this.”

He placed what was supposed to be a calming hand on Tony’s shoulder, but Tony shook him off, “And how the fuck do you suppose we do that, Rogers? The only hope we had at reversing time got dusted with Peter and with Strange gone, we have nothing. Unless you’ve got Doc Brown’s phone number—“

“So you’re just going to give up?” Steve demanded, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

“What do you want from me, Captain Spangles? Do you want me to dust off the ole DeLorean and go back in time to when this purple bastard was born and kill him? I’ve done many things, Rogers, but time travel isn't one of them. It can’t be done.”

“But I thought Tony Stark could do anything.” Steve said with a hint of sarcasm and Tony wished he had another glass bottle to throw at his head.

“I’m only a human, okay?” Tony snapped, “I can’t solve everything. You people think that I have the solution to everything, but you’re missing one important thing.”

“And what’s that?” Steve demanded.

“I spent every waking moment on that god forsaken ship thinking of ways I could fix this and bring Peter home. I thought of everything, every single possibility and I came up with the same answer. It can’t be done. Because if it could, Peter would be here, safe. I would've never left that ship if it meant that I could've saved Peter. And he’s not here. And I get to live with that for the rest of my life. This is the one problem I can’t solve and it kills me. Do you get that? So it’s not for a lack of trying, because I tried. I tried and I tried until I almost lost my mind trying to think of ways to bring that kid back to me. But I can’t, Steve, I can’t.”

Tears fill Tony’s eyes and he wants to scream and yell until he doesn't have a voice, because Steve doesn't get it.

He had to hold the closest thing he had to a son in his arms while he died and there was nothing he could do. Peter died and Tony didn’t and that is something Tony will never be able to live with.

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

They have a memorial service for the ones that disappeared after the snap. They light candles and place them in front of pictures of the fallen and Tony can’t bring himself to look at Peter’s picture. May picked it out and Tony knows it took her days to even bring herself to look at the stack of photos that Happy had brought from her apartment.

Everyone is dressed in black and Tony has flashbacks of his parents funeral and he desperately wants a drink.

They take turns sharing memories, stories and Tony can’t choose which one he wants to share of Peter. He doesn't know if he wants to share Peter with a room full of people who didn’t know him. Peter was his family and most of the people in the room had decided a long time ago that they didn’t want to be a part of his family.  May can’t get through her speech without breaking into tears and Rhodey escorts her to her room to lay down.

Tony locks himself in his room afterwards, because it’s the only place in the compound that doesn't remind him of Peter. A bottle of scotch becomes an extension of his left hand and he fades in and out of a drunken stupor. He doesn't bother to keep track of time. He doesn't eat, he doesn't shower, he just…exists, as this empty shell of a person and it’s pathetic, he knows, but he doesn't care.

It’s on day five, Tony thinks, that F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells him that May Parker is outside his door and wishes to speak to him.

Tony hasn't seen her since the memorial and the first thing that goes through his mind is the memory of her gut wrenching sobs when she realized her nephew was one of the many that turned to dust. And Tony just can’t deal with someone else blaming him for Peter. He blames himself enough for the both of them.

Without waiting for a response from him, F.R.I.D.A.Y. lets her in and he can’t meet her eyes.

She doesn't say anything at first, she just comes in and sits at the end of the bed, Thor the puppy following right next to her.

The sight of the almost fully grown puppy makes a sob build in Tony’s throat and Thor, as if sensing his sadness, comes over and rests his head on Tony’s knee and Tony can’t help but chuckle wetly, combing his fingers through his soft fur.

“He’s been a mess since—“ May stops, her eyes watering and she can’t even bring herself to say it, “I thought maybe—since you got him for—well, you both look liked you could use someone.”

Tony feels the ache in his chest ease slightly and his throat tightens with tears and unspoken words at May’s thoughtfulness. He doesn't know what to say to her, what he could even say to make any of this better. To express how sorry he was.

But she reaches over and grips his hand tightly and he knows without words that she feels it, too. This hollow ache where his heart used to be, like someone ripped it right through his sternum. It hurts when he breathes, his lungs in a constant state of restriction and he can barely breathe through it. He hasn't felt this way since his parents died and even then, this feels worse. Because he was there. And there was nothing he could do.

“May, I—“ He chokes and the tears fall hot on his cheeks and she can only squeeze his hand tight, “I’m so—so—sorry, I never—I never wanted this—not for Peter—not this. I couldn’t—“

“Tony, I—“ She takes a breath, “I wanted to blame you—but I know that you loved him as much—as much I do. And I couldn’t. I knew Peter—“ she winces at his name and her hand shakes in his grasp and he just holds it tighter, “he would've never let you go up there by yourself. And I’ve talked to the others, they think—it would've happened regardless.”

Tears fall silently down her cheeks and Tony wants to look away, but he doesn’t, “I know you blame yourself—but it’s not your fault. None of it.”

May looks down at her lap and fiddles with something for a moment, before handing it to Tony.

It’s a picture and Tony outright sobs at the sight of it, because the memory of that day hits him like a wave and the wound inside him splits wide open.

It was taken on Peter’s sixteenth birthday.

It had fallen on a week day and after much persuasion, May let Peter skip school and spend the day with Tony while she was at work. He surprised Peter with a trip to Coney Island, where he’d rented out the park for the day and they spend the entire trip riding the rides, eating too many hot dogs and too many sweets and they rode every ride at least three times.

Tony couldn't remember the last time he’d had that much fun and you could see it in the smiles on both their faces, big and bright, so much happiness radiating from both of them. Peter filled a void that Tony never knew was there until the kid came into his life. He brightened up every room he came in, spreading his infectious energy with every one he met, Tony included.

Peter had given him so much, had changed him in so many ways and now he was gone and Tony just felt lost. Peter had given him a renewed sense of purpose in life and now, Tony wasn't sure about anything.

“When I lost Ben, there were days that I felt like I couldn't even get out of bed, the loss felt so strong. Ben had been my life for so long, we’d been together since high school and when he died, I felt like he’d taken everything that I was at my core away with him. I was a shell of a person, for so long and there were many days that I just wanted it to end. I wanted to quit my job, I wanted to curl up underneath the covers and tell everyone who was telling me everything was going to be okay, to fuck off. Because it wasn't going to be okay. It will never be okay that he’s not here.”

She looks down at the picture held tightly in Tony’s grasp and gives a watery smile, “Peter was my strength. I had never wanted to be a mom—Ben and I had decided that we were okay with not having kids. And then Peter comes along and I couldn't help but fall in love with this shy, quiet, smart and sweet little boy. He’d just lost his parents and I’d never seen a five year old look at the world with such determination before. He was fearless and he made me brave.”

She sniffles, wiping at her eyes where tears had fallen and Tony’s heart feels like lead in his chest.

He brushes his fingers over Peter’s face and he wishes, more than anything, he could’ve saved him. That he could've gone in his place and if he was given the choice, he would’ve. God, he would. He would've gotten on his knees and begged that purple bastard to spare Peter’s life and take his.

The world could exist without Tony Stark.

It couldn't exist without someone like Peter Parker.

“You’re the only one who can fix this, Tony.” May whispers and her voice sounds so hopeful and broken at the same time. Desperate and frail and Tony feels like she's asking him for something he can’t give her.

“Peter wouldn't want you to throw in the towel, not because of him.” She continues and Tony just feels tired.

He stands up from the bed, tossing the picture on the nightstand and he just wants everyone to leave him alone.

“Why does everyone assume that I can just snap my fingers and reverse everything Thanos did? It might’ve been that easy for him, but it’s not for me. I have no idea where he is, where the stones are and other than inventing a time machine, there’s nothing I can do.”

May looks down at her lap and he can see the angry flush on her cheeks from where he’s standing across the room. She stands, smoothing out the creases in her black dress and it punches the air out of his chest when he realizes it’s probably the same dress she buried her husband in.

She brings her gaze to his and he finds himself amazed at the amount of determination that are blazing in her eyes, “You survived a crude heart surgery, made a suit in a cave and figured out of to survive with a glorified battery in your chest to keep you from dying and you’re saying this is too impossible for you?”

Tony doesn't reply, he doesn't know how to. Because he succeeded in all those things out of pure luck and an eidetic memory. The plans for the arc reactor was already there for him, the parts for the suit were already there, ready to be molded into something with a little creativity.

What she was asking, this was uncharted territory.

“Peter loved you like a father Tony and you once sat there and told me you loved him as a son,” May continued, her words harsh, “And if there’s anything that I’ve learned in the last twelve years of being a parent, is that no matter how much you want to, you can’t give up on your kids, no matter what. And if it was you, Peter would never give up if it meant that he could bring you back.”

May comes closer, the hard edge disappearing and replacing it, a desperation matching his and he closes his eyes to shield himself from it, “You can do this Tony, I know you can. You’re the only one who can fix this and bring him back home.”

“And what if I can’t?” He whispers, his voice small and beyond scared and that’s the truth of it all.

He’s terrified to hope. To dream and believe that this whole situation they're in is reversible. If he failed, it’d be like losing Peter all over again and this time, Tony doesn't know if he could survive it.

“Then you try again,” she says, “you try as many times as you can and in the end, if you can’t—if this is permanent…” she trails off with a sad smile, “I’ll never accept the fact that he’s gone, but it will bring us more peace to know that we tried everything we could to bring him back to us.”

She pats his cheek and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her and Tony collapses onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his face.

He looks over to the night stand, where the picture lays against the wood and he picks it up. He studies the smile on Peter’s face, the brightness of his eyes, the red in his cheeks, flushed from adrenalin and pure joy and Tony can’t help but smile despite the tears steadily falling from his eyes.

Peter was his purpose in life, he was the person Tony wanted to leave his legacy to, should Peter want it. He belonged in future Tony had envisioned for him, he belonged here, on Earth, and continue to spread the kindness and care he readily gave anyone he came across in his life.

Peter deserved a future, a second chance.

And if the world could grant someone like Tony a second chance—and the jury was still out on whether or not that he’d really deserved it—then Tony was more determined to give Peter one, too.

With one last look at the picture, he tucked it into the pocket of his worn jeans and headed down to lab, Thor the puppy following hot on his heels. Tony was so lost in his thoughts he forgot the dog was even here, but the knowledge that he’s got someone, soothes something in Tony and he finds himself thankful for the little guy.

“FRIDAY? We’ve got work to do, honey, start the coffee.”

“Welcome back, boss.” FRIDAY responded.

“Now you great purple bastard,” Tony murmured, grabbing a tablet, “what did you do with those stones?”

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

Thank you guys for reading :) Please let me know what you think! :)

[reneejuliet]

If These Walls Could Talk

Welcome back.

I’ve wanted to make another post for well over the last week, but unfortunately that desire came while I was working 7 straight days in a row, 12 hours each day. So to say I was a little more than exhausted by the time I got home each day is an understatement. In addition, I’m once again switching to my night shift schedule, so my mind and body are all out of whack. HOWEVER. As I try to go back to sleep this beautiful rainy morning before returning to work tonight, I can’t. Because my mind is alive with everything I haven’t been able to share with anyone this past week, and it needs said.

It’s still a little strange for me to turn to my blog in these moments, and not my journal. As you can imagine, since I was never a very good blogger, I certainly am not a great journalist, either. But it was an outlet - is an outlet, still. Only, with carpal tunnel in my right wrist/hand, it’s become increasingly harder to hash out all the thoughts I want to on paper. Plus, my fingers have always kept better pace with my mind when keys are involved versus a pen; not to mention the legibility this affords me upon later reflection, as sometimes I’ll write so goshdarn fast and messy that even I, myself, can’t decipher what the hell I was trying to say. 

So, sleepy and shivering, I welcome you back into the pit of thoughts.

I am going to be addressing some slight depression issues, “broken home”/family issues, self-harm, and anxiety issues in this post. Still not sure how exactly this whole thing works, so I hope this is enough of a warning for anyone sensitive to those.

Without unraveling the entire rat’s nest that is my childhood, let me just say that I’ve never really known a “peaceful” home. Brief summary: my mother was absent a lot due to her own depression, my father has quite a temper, and they both fought like it was their jobs. This is why I came to love Peter Pan - whenever the yelling came pounding through my walls, I curled up underneath my window with my suitcase packed and wished for nothing else than for Peter to come take me away to Neverland. Obviously, this never came to fruition, but it helped some part of my tiny brain cope. If you’ve ever read Peter Pan, you know each child’s Neverland is their own making - I cannot tell you how upset it makes me that every. single. version of Peter Pan never includes Wendy’s pet wolf. All the same, whenever I imagined my own, it was fantastic. Full of wonder and joy and happiness, just like in the story. Only, very unlike the story, I always came home. Here, however, my home was happiness. My parents didn’t fight, my sister didn’t hate me (of course, she didn’t really hate me, but I was the pesky younger sibling that she just couldn’t be bothered with), and no one was ever angry with me. This, I realize, is probably where my anxiety began to stem from - always wanting to please everyone, at any cost. It made for a very self-inflicted traumatic childhood on my end, because I quickly learned to silence a lot of who I was just to satiate what everyone wished of me.

And for a long time, I remained this person. It wasn’t until I was about 10 years old that the depression hit, though we hardly knew that’s what it was at the time. See, I had finally made friends with a group of girls that I could be myself with, and I was happy. But, we were considered weird. Or, at least, they were - they were still more free with themselves than I was, comfortable with making strange noises and doing strange things just because they wanted to. And while I indulged in those moments shared with them, I still kept fairly quiet and reserved when on my own. This led to bullying from my classmates, because of who my friends were. It wasn’t so much aimed at me personally, but at my choice of friends. And these girls meant the world to me - they still do, 2 decades later as our friendship remains as strong as those early days. I couldn’t grasp why someone would make fun of me, tease me, because of something that finally made me happy. There just had to be more that my little preteen brain wasn’t understanding.

There had to be something wrong with me, right?

I promise, this has a point.

My non-diagnosed anxiety (I didn’t even know what anxiety was, back then) only worsened as I began struggling with finding some reason for why these kids were picking on me. None of my friends seemed to care - why did I? Because I was a people-pleaser. It ate away at me to know that someone didn’t like me, regardless of the reason for it. I tried so hard. I let people say what they wanted to about me, I gave people second and third and fourth chances all because I was afraid of what would happen if I stood up for myself. I changed how I acted, how I dressed (a whole other can of worms we will probably never address, haha), how I lived, just to try and fit in with everyone. It was exhausting, and it wore me down quick.

It also didn’t help that by this point, my older sister had hit high school. She was pretty, she was popular, and she was damn good at sports. I’m pretty sure her track record at high school is still intact, and she graduated 16 years ago. This only served to create my inferiority complex.

Why couldn’t I be as great as my sister?

Going back to the family issues - my dad was my everything growing up. He did so much for our family, made sacrifices I never knew how to appreciate until I got older. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me, to prove to him that everything he did for us wasn’t in vain. I could see that pride in his eyes when he watched my sister excel at sports. Field hockey, basketball, track and field. She had his love in a way I coveted. I played those sports too, while in middle school, but never nearly as well. Never well enough to see that shameless pride gleaming back at me from my father’s eyes. And that killed. Because no matter how I tried, I wasn’t her.

I was more like my mother. Interested in arts (though not art itself, I can’t draw to save my damn life), music, theatre. When I finally made it to high school, I was too damn scared of failure, of being compared to her, to really try anything I had once enjoyed. It distanced me from my father. You would think, then, that this would have brought my mother and me closer; it did not. That chasm carved between us by the lack of her involvement as I grew up was too wide to bridge entirely. I grew to feel isolated in my own family, unwanted and certainly unneeded. What did I possibly bring to the table?

When I turned 16, I told my mom I needed to talk to someone. Depression still wasn’t something anyone really talked about. A taboo in society, frowned heavily upon. Full of labels and judgments I wasn’t able to bear just yet. My mom understood, even if my dad didn’t. He never used to believe in depression. He was one that agreed it was all attention-seeking, an excuse. And here I was, drowning hard and fast in it, afraid to confide in him lest he think less of me as well. So I got good at hiding it. So damn good. Because how do you tell the man you idolize that you’ve started cutting when he’s made the statement of, “if you’re going to start it, you should just finish the job”?

It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to tell my father much of any of what I suffered through back then. Now, he tries to understand. But he’s getting older, and more ornery, and sometimes that patience wears so thin it could snap in a light breeze. More so now, because I finally stand up for myself. And while he encourages that, he certainly never anticipated I would have to do it against him.

There’s still so much screaming inside these walls. Some of it is mine, now. I hate it just as much, hate how involved with it I’ve become. But I simply cannot shoulder the weight of the world anymore.

Atlas, I am not.

My father and I never used to have such blow-out arguments. I never used to have to scream until my throat burned, my lungs ached, and my chest collapsed. Not with him. Yet I’ll do it a thousand - a million - times over if it means remaining who I’ve become. This version of me may not be perfect, and I’m certainly not happy with her just yet, but it is so much better from who I used to be. Because the girl I once was would have been dead by now. She already very nearly was.

ANYWAY. 

This particular fight started over something incredibly stupid - a statement. A belief I have that doesn’t necessarily align with my father’s. I have no political affiliation. He’s a strong Republican. I made the mistake of voicing a belief that apparently leans more liberal, and he just... lost it. Got super nasty with me, made hurtful comments, refused to hear me out. And I know it’s only because he’s getting older, and like his father before him, losing his temper more often because of it. My mom constantly insists I be the bigger person, that I understand the true reasons behind his behavior and brush it off. “You know he doesn’t mean it. You know he’s in pain, how that makes him lash out.”

Yes, I do know. That doesn’t make it okay.

All my life I’ve been the punching bag for this family. The therapist listening to every member complain about each other. All my life, I’ve tried and given everything to fix it. To somehow fit this family into the mould I had imagined for us. All my life, I have sacrificed more and more of me just to make things right.

When is enough, enough?

I called my boyfriend that night, shaking and crying. Trying to understand how a parent can talk to their child that way, wondering when my family became... well, this. He listened oh so patiently, let me just cry in silence until my body was spent. He will never know just how much I loved him in that moment. Because though Peter Pan never came to steal me away, I know exactly where my Neverland is. And it’s in my boyfriend’s arms.

My father still hasn’t apologized for how he spoke to me, let alone what he said. He’s not the type to. I love him with everything I’ve got, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without him, but. I am done. I am done suffering for his - or anyone’s - sake. Sometimes, it has to be about me. As hard as that is for me to do.

If you have made it this far - if you have read any of this at all - know that you are worth so much more than you think. It isn’t always obvious, and it certainly isn’t easy, but there is meaning in your existence. I still have yet to find what mine is, but I know it’s there. Somewhere. Yours is too.

If these walls could talk I’m afraid of what they’d say The shouting they would echo The image they’d portray But I’m not afraid to hear it because I don’t know what was said No, I heard it all the first time It still rattles in my head

So give me all the silence All the quiet that you’ve got Enough to end the crying And drown out my own thoughts

[fandomfanfics12]

We Are A Family-part 23

Title: We Are A Family. Pairings: Steve x tony, Peter x Wade, Nat x Clint, Sam x Bucky. Part: 23/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, eventual smut, slowburn. Summary: When Nat comes into the avengers tower with baby Peter Parker, the avengers didn’t know what they were getting themselves into. But now that Peter is here,Steve and Tony both feel protective over him. It doesn’t help that Peter hates everyone other than Steve and tony. But as Steve and tony raise Peter, they start to fall for one another. Will this superfamily work out or will it all turn to hell? A/N: so it’s starting to look like i’m going to get more free time this year which should (fingers crossed) hopefully mean i’ll be able to update this fic more. also thanks for your patience, i’m such a slow righter lol. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22

It was almost unfair. That tony’s life and his marriage was falling apart, just as Clint and Natasha got to start their marriage. He knew Steeve had been shocked when Tony had given in so easily. But maybe Bucky was right, maybe Tony and Steve weren’t meant to be together. But through all of this, in the back of Tony’s mind, he couldn’t help but think, this can’t be over because I’m still in love with you.

“I’m so sorry Tony.” Steve whispered and for once, he had the look of love and adoration that Steve had always worn when looking at Tony. It was only there for a second before he looked away.

“What are we going to tell Peter?” Tony asked softly, Steve sighed and shrugged.

“He already knows that I cheated, I’m sure he already hates me, so I’ll deliver the news.” Tony shook his head.

“no. I’ll do it.” Tony hated the idea of his kid finding out without him being there. Peter would need Tony through this, Tony wouldn’t back out on his son now.

“we could do it together?” Steve offered and Tony squeezed his eyes shut. together.

“okay.” It seemed that Tony’s brain was now on autopilot. Anything else was too much.

“Steve?” Tony asked suddenly and Steve looked back at him.

“Yeah?” his voice was flat, his face stone, his eyes cold.

“Where did it go wrong?” Tony asked softly, he watched as an emotion floated to the surface of Steve’s face.

“I don’t know.” Then steve walked out of the house and tony resisted the urge to break down into tears.

The dinner was painfully awkward. Al had tried to ask about Peter’s dads again and Peter had shut them down instantly.

“they’re fine. Everything’s fine. They’ve just been working lots.” Both Wade and May shot him strange looks.

“Well that’s good.” Al then asked May a question and Peter allowed himself to zone out. He didn’t want to be at home but he certainly didn’t want to be in the middle of a dinner with Wade. Peter wondered if it was still too late to run.

“Is the food okay?” May asked and Peter forced himself to focus on reality.

“Yeah, it’s delicious.” May raised a brow at Peter’s food, he’d barely touched it.

“it is delicious May, thank you so much.” Wade told her and she smiled.

“Thank you Wade.” She said while glaring at Peter.

“it is delicious, now you boys run along, May and I have to catch up privately now.” Peter and Wade both rolled their eyes but stood, knowing it was better to follow Al’s orders than to ignore them. Peter and Wade dumped their dishes into the kitchen sink. Wade opened his mouth but Peter just walked out. He knew he was being an asshole, but he was allowing it for tonight. He just found out his pops had had an affair, his dads were probably going to break up and he hadn’t slept for the past two days.

“What’s going on Peter?” Wade asked and Peter groaned.

“Would you just leave me alone?” Peter asked and flopped onto the bottom bunk in the guest bedroom. May called it the guest bedroom, but it was really Peter’s room. Peter’s head hit a bag and he swore, when he pulled back he noticed it was Wade’s backpack.

“why is your stuff here?” Peter rubbed his forehead and Wade suddenly looked sheepish.

“May’s taking me in sort of.” Wade looked down at his feet.

“Taking you in?” Peter asked.

“Al asked her if I could stay here for the next six months and May agreed.”

“Six months?”

“It’s not a big deal Peter.”

“Six months is a big deal, what’s going on?” Peter asked and Wade took a deep breath. He began fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket and Peter knew to back down. He wasn’t ready to say whatever was going on.

“it’s-“ but it was clear he didn’t want to say it, so Peter interrupted

“It’s okay Wade, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Thanks Peter.” The room was silent and then Wade sat down on the bunk bed, Peter stared at the spot where his knee and Wade’s touched.

“still obsessed with wham?” Peter asked and he felt Wade relax.

“Best album of all time.” Peter rolled his eyes, but it was a relief. To know that even though everything in Peter’s world was changing and reshuffling, Wade was still the same.

“debateable.” Peter murmured and Wade bumped his shoulder into Peter’s.

“You’re such a dork.” It felt good to be smiling with Wade again. It felt good to simply be smiling.

“Why’d you take the bottom bunk?” Peter asked suddenly, and Wade began to fidget with his jacket sleeve again.

“A habit I guess.” Wade shrugged but Peter couldn’t help but smile. When they were younger, Peter always took the top bunk. Whenever he had nightmares he would jump up and stick to the roof, at least he didn’t wake up Wade then.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole.” Peter said softly and he could feel Wade studying Peter’s profile.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole.” Wade lifted hid head and looked at Peter. He’d forgotten how much he had missed Peter. How comforting it was to just be sitting beside him. Wade studied Peter’s profile, taking not of how exhausted he looked. He wished Peter would open up, tell him what’s going on. But things with Wade and Peter hadn’t been easy and good like that, not in a long time. Wade missed those days where he and Peter would just talk for hours on end about anything and everything.

“Peter…” but Wade trailed off, watching as if the world was in slow motion, as Peter looked at Wade.

“Yeah?” Peter’s big brown eyes were wide and studying Wade’s face. Wade memorised Peter’s face and hung his head.

“why did we stop talking?” Wade wondered, but he knew that answer.

“You were popular and when push came to shove, you chose your popular friends over me.” Peter shrugged and Wade shook his head.

“But you were my best friend.” He whispered, Peter didn’t hear it.

“But you’ve got Flash and I’ve got Ned and we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be.” Peter was now staring at the roof. Wade wanted to tell Peter that he missed him, missed their friendship. But the words died in his throat.

“Yeah, exactly where we’re meant to be.” Wade echoed, not believing it.

Steve wanted to scream, he tried to break the barriers in his mind, but he was trapped. He couldn’t tell tony the truth, he couldn’t tell anyone the truth. He’d tried talking to natasha and clint and bruce and any avenger he could find, but the words died in his throat every time. He’d tried to write it down, but his hand would just throw the pen across the room. He couldn’t communicate this to anyone other than Bucky, who was just as trapped as Steve was.

“Dammit.” Steve grunted as his hand suddenly spasmed, sending the pen across the room.

“Pops?” it was Peter’s voice and Steve inhaled sharply.

“hey Peter.” Steve forced himself to smile, but he couldn’t manage it.

“Can I talk to you?” Peter asked and Steve forced himself to nod.

“of course, what’s going on?” Peter let out a deep sigh.

“Dad told me, about you and Bucky. I want to know, are you guys getting a divorce?” Peter asked and Steve felt his stomach twist and churn.

“Tony and I agreed we’d have that conversation with you together.” Steve told him gently.

“I want to know now.” Peter said firmly and Steve swallowed. He twisted his wedding ring and took a deep shaky breath.

“it wasn’t an easy decision Peter.” Steve murmured soflty.

“So you’re breaking up?” Peter’s voice was shaking and Steve squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s not as simple as you think.” Steve told him.

“Then explain to me how complicated it is. How could you do this?” Peter demanded and Steve began shaking.

“Peter-“

“Tell me how you could ruin our family!” Peter hissed and Steve felt tears prick his eyes.

“I didn’t want to ruin our family.” Steve swore but he knew Peter didn’t believe him.

“so you were hoping you wouldn’t get caught?”

“No! I didn’t plan on this Peter!” Peter shook his head.

“you’re despicable! How could you hurt dad like this? He loved you more than anything in the whole world! How could you?” Peter was crying and Steve was crying and then Peter walked out. Steve put a hand on his mouth, trying not to let the sounds of his sobbing escape. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe that he was losing them and he couldn’t stop it.

It got worse with each passing day, the arguing just got worse and worse. Tony and steve didn’t mean to argue, but it just kept happening. Steve had moved out into the guest bedroom and Tony found he could no longer fall asleep without Steve lying beside him. Peter kept coming home to only hear Steve and Tony in the middle of a screaming match, he would simply say he was staying at May’s. then Peter was gone. Tony felt horrifically guilty for this. Peter no longer felt comfortable being at home and Steve could barely stand to be in the same room as Tony. There was a knock at the door and when Tony went to answer it was May standing in the doorway.

“May?” Tony raised a brow but she was scowling.

“We need to talk.” With a sigh, Tony let her in.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Do you want to tell me why I’ve got Peter staying at my apartment every other night?” May demanded and Tony sighed.

“Steve and i…” Tony trailed off and May crossed her arms.

“What about you and Steve? Because I’ve got a seventeen year old kid showing up at my apartment every night, freaking out because his dads can’t pull their heads out of their asses! I gave Peter to you and Steve because I couldn’t provide the life Peter deserved. So please explain to me what is going on.” May was furious and she had every right to be. Tony twisted his wedding ring and took several deep and steadying breaths.

“Steve cheated on me with Bucky.” He watched as May’s face softened and she gave him the look of pity.

“I’m so sorry Tony.” Her voice was soft and gentle, it made tony want to scream.

“Don’t pity me. I’ll be alright. But Steve and I are getting a divorce, there’s no point dragging it out. He wants to be with Bucky.” Tony twisted the ring again and May noticed.

“What do you want?” she asked and Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

“Steve. That answer will always be Steve, but I have to do what’s right by Steve and Peter. Steve wants Bucky and there’s no point keeping Steve trapped in this marriage. It will only hurt everyone.” May nodded.

“So why is it that Peter keeps coming over?” she asked and Tony ran a hand through his hair.

“Because Steve and I argue every night. We don’t mean to, but it just sort of happens. He said he’ll move out some time next week.” May nodded her head and Tony wanted to run and hide.

“so who gets custody of Peter?” May asked.

“We’re going to share. It’s only one year, there’s no point going to court about who get’s Peter.” May nodded her head.

“I’m so sorry that you’re going through this Tony.” She whispered.

“it is what it is.”

[something-fanfiction-ie]

A Pair of Fans

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Creepy guy follows you for like 2 paragraphs but you get a happy ending. Pinky promise.

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to write, you guys! I’ve been hitting a writing wall like crazy and my life has just been a little hectic. This was a little rushed because I’ve been trying to get it out to you guys but I also have to leave for work in about an hour. Thank you so much for your patience and your love, I appreciate you guys. You’re the best. Remember to let me know what you think. Like, comment, reblog, message me, inbox me, I’m really friendly. I promise. @petah-parkah-and-potahtas and @i-am-lame-leave-me-alone

| part one: Fangirl | part two: Fanboy |

___

In the end, you met Tom by accident.

It was your last night in London and you decided to pull your lazy ass off the fancy hotel couch to wander the potentially dangerous London streets. The faults of your plan didn’t fully hit you until the street lights turned on and your phone died. Here you were, all alone, lost in the most unfamiliar of settings.

Which way was the way back to the hotel? The GPS had said to head south on this certain stretch of road before your phone had died, and that information would have been helpful if you knew which way was south. Why had Jason agreed to let you go out alone? In London.

Your current mission was to find a phone booth. You knew your mom’s phone number by heart and she could get in touch with Jason to come get you. She would be mad and you would never live down the time you got lost in London, but at least you wouldn’t be dead in some back alley.

Thankfully, the road you were on wasn’t very populated so you decided to walk with your hood down. If you bumped into a fan or two you wouldn’t mind. It was still a surreal feeling whenever someone came up to you and recognized you.

As you walked, the night grew darker and you couldn’t help but be paranoid about the guy walking several paces behind you. Hunching your shoulders, you glanced behind you and the predatory look on his face was enough to make the hair on the back of your neck raise.

You quickened your pace and took a sharp and sudden left through an alley which, thankfully, led to another street instead of your untimely doom. Still keeping your gaze behind you, you payed no mind to the road in front of you.

Never in all your wildest dreams did you ever think you would run smack dab into Tom Holland. Of course, you didn’t realize it was him until a little later. He was more solid than you would have imagined and he was warm. Almost like running straight into an open toaster oven. Or maybe you were just cold?

You grabbed very muscular biceps to keep yourself from falling on your ass and let out the smallest of surprised ‘Oh!’s known to man-kind. He responded with a grunt, ‘Oof.’ It was deep, not at all how you would think a Tom Holland ‘oof’ would sound.

You should have let go at this point, apologize for not paying attention, and maybe try to explain the situation. That’s what you would usually do, but when you heard footsteps echoing off the brick walls behind you, you abandoned all regards for societal norms.

You let go of the stranger’s biceps and threw your arms around him in a big hug, tilting your head at just the right angle to see the man slow his steps.

Showtime.

“Peter! I can’t believe I found you! I was so lost and my phone died. I’m sorry we fought, I promise to never walk away from you again.” Queue the tears and the sniffles. You buried you head into a chest that, thankfully, smelled amazing. Please just go along, please just go along. Arms circled your back and pulled you close. A strangely familiar American voice spoke back.

“Don’t worry, babe. Just calm down and let’s head back to the hotel. Yeah?” More footsteps except this time, they were receding. Your heart about burst with absolute joy. You stayed like that, encompassed in a stranger’s comforting embrace for what felt like eternity.

Once you both deemed the coast clear, you pulled back and almost chocked on your own spit in shock. Tom Holland stood in front of you, his curls a little disheveled and his cheeks a bit flushed, wearing a black shirt and jeans. His mouth dropped as the realization dawned on him.

He was standing in front of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

You were standing in front of Tom Holland. Covering your mouth, you stared at him with wide eyes. When you finally spoke, you sounded like the stupidest person to ever exist.

“I thought you were American!” You were pointing your index finger at his chest. His very solid, warm, nice-smelling chest that you had buried your face into just moments ago. You were going to have a full blown anxiety attack from the sheer absurdity of the situation.

He smirked now, “I am not. It was just acting, darling.” Your heart fluttered. He just called you darling. How many times had you YouTubed compilations of him saying that to imagine him saying it to you? Enough to know that it never sounded like this, all breathless and heated and flirty.

He extended his hand and you watched as a little bit of the fanboy from the Jimmy Fallon interview brightened his eyes. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. I am a huge fan.”

You took his hand a little awkwardly, afraid to show just how much you were freaking out. “Likewise.”

“So where are you headed?”

“Brown’s Hotel.” He raised his eyebrows and informed you that you were going in the very wrong direction, Brown’s Hotel was the opposite direction. You laughed a little nervously, scratching the back of your neck as you explained your embarrassing situation. He laughed, shaking his head and squinting his eyes in the most adorable show of amusement you’d ever witnessed.

As you walked back, your shoulders bumping each other’s every once in a while, you talked about everything you could. When was the next time you would be able to walk the sparsely populated streets of a foreign country with your all time celebrity crush?

“What in the world made you choose Peter for a name?” He joked, looking down at you as he steered you around a corner. His hand lightly gripped the back of your lower bicep, sending electricity through your nervous system. If this was a Disney Pixar movie, the alarms in your head would be blaring as your emotions ran wild.

“It was the first name to come to mind. And I’m a huge Spider-Man fan.” You shrugged, self consciously tucking your hands deep into your pockets. Peeking at him through the corner of your eyes, you caught his gaze long enough to spike your heart rate. Which was already dangerously high.

The subject changed a billion different times, sometimes one of you would let a fan moment slip and the two of you would laugh.

Like when Tom said, “Your acting was seamless and beautiful. You weren’t even the lead and still you got the most attention for the movie! Somehow you managed to convey so many things with just facial expressions and body language and it was insane, as a fellow actor, to watch you. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought you were really your character and-“ he cut himself off, his cheeks a preciously dark pink.

“I’m sorry, I’m geeking a little.” The both of you laughed and he got to witness you geek a little later, gushing about his portrayal of a character you grew up with.

“To actually see this Peter as a teenager, and I mean a real teenager, it was refreshing. Tobey and Andrew did great, don’t get me wrong. They’re both amazing actors, but I just feel like you were the most accurate teenage Peter that has ever been on screen. I love watching you.” It took you a second to realize what exactly you had just said and immediately you tried to correct yourself, but Tom didn’t hear a word of it as his laughter roared through the street.

By the time you got to Brown’s, you didn’t want to leave. You stood awkwardly at the elevator doors, shuffling your feet and trying to make sure that no one recognized Tom. He had his back to the main lobby but it still felt a bit risky.

“Well...” He looked at you with the biggest brown eyed puppy dog look you’d ever seen. It twisted your heart a million different ways inside your chest.

“Well...” You repeated. It was quiet for just a beat and then he said the most precious thing.

“Would you mind if I hugged you goodbye?” Without replying, your threw your arms around him. It felt natural, your body pressed to his like this. His arms pulled you close and he buried his head into your hair.

The moment was so dream-like, that you were completely unaware of the sound of the elevator opening behind you until the people inside started speaking.

“Tom Holland!” He jerked up, catching sight of the three paparazzi behind you. As if it was somehow possible, he pulled you closer in a very intimately protective manner. His body felt rigid against you. You were frozen in place.

“Who is the girl?!” They all started asking, and somehow it felt like you were being swarmed in a mob with their thousand of questions flying at the two of you like daggers. Tom managed to evade both their questions and them by shuffling the two of you into the elevator and evil eyeing them out.

When the doors closed, he let you go and gave you an awakward smile.

“Going up?” After he walked you to your room and you said your goodbyes, a bit reluctantly, you slipped inside. He hadn’t even asked for your number, or if he could see you again. You didn’t try to deny the sadness that thought brought.

Until you shoved your hands into your jacket pocket, ready to march into the bedroom and find your charger so you could cry to your mom. Your hand brushed against something, and when you pulled it out, you realized it was a card. Spider-Man was on the front, the famous picture of him laying on his back in front of the New York skyline.

Flipping it to the back, you burst into giddy laughter.

Tom Holland

Peter Parker aka Spider-Man

Just beneath that was his phone number and social media accounts. At the very bottom, in hurried handwriting was a small sentence.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you.”

[yangkcrystal]

Coming to Peace

I’m not exactly sure how to begin. I guess...let me start with this. This past Sunday, I taught a lesson on “Persevering for the Purpose of Godliness”. When I was asked to teach, my initial plan was to expound on Romans 5 and Paul’s own suffering. However in my preparation, I was taken back to a season of my suffering where the reality of our broken world and God’s amazing grace met. In my remembrance, I was compelled to expound on God’s Truth in the midst of my own suffering and perseverance. It was never my intentions to share my suffering so deeply, let alone allow myself to reflect on the details of it. As I cried and choked on snot through my lesson, I realized that I never came to peace with my suffering. 

You see...in late 2017, I became very stressed with a personal matter occurring in my life. It ate me away and before I knew it, my stress allowed a way for Satan to step in and exaggerate my emotions. As 2018 approach, depression was at the doorsteps welcoming me. During my phase of depression, I cried in any place that was private. In my car, in the shower, in my kitchen. I can still see myself trying to hold it all together because I didn’t want my husband to know the rainstorm circulating within me. I can still remember the silent tears that my pillow drank on nights I felt overwhelmed for no reason. It was no longer about the initial personal matter that caused my feelings to spiral downwards. There are really no words for how I truly felt. I felt helpless; I felt hopeless. For some reason, I just always felt a sense of gloom over me. My emotions began to impact my physical well-being as time went on. I was tired often and didn’t have the desire to eat much either. I became thin, in which I received many compliments from my mom for "keeping it together". However, everything was just falling apart. Unfortunately at the time, I didn’t realize I was depressed because I held the belief that my faith would not allow me to. It wasn’t until a couple months into 2018 that I came to a place where I acknowledged my depression. But I questioned myself, how could a faith-filled woman become depressed?

Then suddenly in April 2018, the violent waves of anxiety crashed over me...seeking to devour me. It hit me fast and hard. The rainstorm circulating within conjured into a hurricane I couldn't escape, and anxiety was in the eye of the storm. Anxiety is not momentary. It isn’t when your heartbeats fast before you take a test, or make your way up to sing in front of an audience. Anxiety isn’t when you’re nervous for your kids first day of school, nor is it the feeling you get before a job interview. Those events may cause you to be anxious—being anxious is a normal emotion everyone feels every now and then. But it is not anxiety. Anxiety is something you feel 24/7; from the time you wake up to the time you go to sleep, though even in your sleep…you are restless. Anxiety is the excessive and all-consuming emotion of deep, inescapable fear. It was strange, because I didn’t know exactly what I was fearful of. I just knew that I lived in an intense amount of fear every second of every day. I was unable to stay calm inside. My heart felt tight all the time and I no longer felt like myself. Due to this, my performance at work and my patience at home dwindled. I had lost control of my well-being, work performance, and my responsibilities at home.

As my depression and anxiety raged on, I experienced severe depersonalization, also known as derealization. You will find that most people who suffer from anxiety have/has experienced depersonalization. It’s hard to describe it, but I often felt detached from my body and unable to grasp reality or my current situation(s). I felt as if I no longer existed in the world. In short, I was on auto-pilot because my body was unable to feel anything else other than the fear that was spread within me. I acted as human as I could to ensure nobody knew what I was going through. My husband whom I shared a bed with was oblivious; I wanted to keep it that way. I continued feeling irreparable, disabled, everything remorseful and yet nothing. I felt a sorrow so dark that I believed no one would ever understand.

Satan took this opportunity to drown me in many lies about myself and God. I began to believe that I was never a child of God. Everything that I’ve every done in my Christian life was all for pride. Salvation was no gift of mine and God was no friend to me. God was a liar and did not love me. Ending my life would be significantly better than living in fear. 

I thought I had experienced the worst of it all as I battled through the spiritual warfare. Then it happened. Within the last two weeks of May 2018, I experienced my first of 3 major panic attacks. This was the cherry on top for me. Everything that I have been feeling for the past few months was exemplified by 100. I can still recall what happened that night as if it were yesterday. I sat up quickly in my bed as everything around me was tunneling in. I was afraid to shut my eyes because I was sure death was to follow. I heard my heart beat outside of my chest. My heart rate increased dramatically, which caused me to think I was having a heart attack. In between the pounding of my heart and the rapid beating of my heart, I was trembling as if an earthquake had just came through. My body continued to spiral around with breathlessness, chills, and excessive sweat. After the dramatic symptoms passed, my chest was struck with a tightness so severe that it turned my stomach inside out. Before the panic attack ended, my head became as light as a cloud while my body experienced a deep sense of detachment. My panic attack lasted approximately 3 minutes. I knew because Jay had taken Hazel out to use the restroom, in which it typically took 3 minutes. This was my first panic attack and I was determined to make it my last.

The moment I heard Jay shut the screen door of our home, I laid in bed as quickly as I was able and turned away to make him think I was sleeping. But in reality I was thinking about ending my life. As I laid in my bed inside the love-filled home my husband and I shared, I cried to myself, “God, I can’t handle this anymore. If I have to deal with this for the rest of my life...I won’t.” That dreary night in May I began to think about ways to end my life to escape the eye of the storm. It didn't feel like a big deal to me because I already felt like I didn't exist. The only difference would be that I would no longer physically exist. Throughout the night I envisioned two possible ways for me to escape. My tired body forced itself to doze off into a deep sleep while I silently drenched my pillow in tears.

Depression. Anxiety. Depersonalization. These were all very raw emotions, and they are all very serious mental illnesses. By the power of God, a lot has been done to remediate the suffering except the trauma. In full transparency, I still struggle with anxiety [and depersonalization]. I’ve wrestled with the question, “why am I still struggling when my faith has been refined to be stronger than before?” But the fact is that we live in a broken world filled with sin. Anxiety is the proof of sin, in which some experience the reality of how sin has tainted the world. Will the deep cuts of fear engraved in anxiety ever be eradicated? With a joyful heart, I exclaim with a yes! “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison (2 Corinthians 4:17).” 

I can’t speak for everyone who has gone through this type of suffering. But this is my story; the story of a faith-filled woman who was brought to a place of suffering so agonizing that taking her own life was the only way to have peace. I know sometimes it may be hard to understand why anyone would have the will power to end their life, but know this...the enemy works hard to try and destroy anything that brings glory to God. The solid foundation of God’s Truth was the only thing standing between my life and death. It’s taken a few beloved people and over thousands of words to fight for the peace of knowing this Truth: though I have suffered a little while [and will continue to], the God of all grace, who has called me to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish me (1 Peter 5:10). 

My peace now rests on the Truth that one day, God our Creator will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things will have passed away (Revelation 21:4).  

CY

[secondstartotheright-imagines]

There Is No Escape - Part 2

Note: Thank you all so much for your likes and your kind words. I never expected the first part to do so well. I just hope this one is as enjoyable for you all too! <3

Summary: Your lack of memory is beginning to make your meeting with the green clad male both confusing and intimidating. He isn’t happy at all and his patience is wearing thin.

Captain Hook/Peter Pan x Reader

Warning: The mildest bit of violence/intimidating behaviour.

Words: 1468

”Who are you an-and how do you even know my name?”

The young male’s brows furrowed at your question. Not out of confusion but it looks to you like he is angry at what you said. A reaction that only manages to increase the confusion you are feeling at this point.

“That’s not even funny [y/n]. You’ve tried this whole little trick on me before….” His right fist clenched itself and it is then that you notice just how close it is to a dagger that is holstered on his hip. The movement of his hand looking like he is just itching to take a hold of it as he moves himself closer to you. His steps are slow but steady as a predators would be as it crept up on its unsuspecting prey. “…..and it didn’t end so well. You really want to go down that same path again?”

You can’t remember a time where you have felt as scared as you do right now. Your palms are beginning to sweat and despite you trying to show the strange male confidence your erratic breathing betrays you completely and gives away your nervousness to him. This amuses him to no end as the frown that was once on his face turns into a smug little smirk. Anyone would think he had just won some little competition he had going on in his own head or something.

“You don’t scare me, if that’s what you are trying to do, in fact you are the one that should be scared. The Captain isn’t going to be happy about you knocking out his men and invading his quarters.”

He wasn’t fazed, like, at all! If the prospect of coming face to face with an angry pirate didn’t even cause him to so much as hesitate in his movements then what would? Certainly not a confused girl such as herself.

“Oh I’m not scared of Captain Pretty Boy. Not in the slightest and for a girl who seems to have gathered the interest of a bunch of pirates you don’t seem to be either. I’m impressed….as I always am with you [y/n].”

“Okay you seriously need to stop doing that. You don’t know me! I have never met you before!”

It is bad enough that he knows your name but to keep using it in such a familiar way, like he had known you for a substantial amount of time, that was just not on. If he is trying to confuse you then goddamn it he is succeeding. You begin to really dislike just how close he is to you and so you edge yourself off the bed, your eyes remaining fixed on his, and you back yourself into the wall that was closest to the window.

The next thing you know is that the male who had been stood a few feet away from you before was now so close to you that you can feel his breath cruising over your face….a feeling that creates goosebumps not only down both of your arms but all over the rest of your body. It seems almost impossible for him to have closed the gap that had been between you in the blink of an eye and yet there he was, both arms at either side of you as they box you up against the wall, his nose so close to yours that any moment now they could touch.

“You really don’t remember a thing do you? Did that bloody pirate do this to you?!”

His eyes are so close to yours that you can’t help but see a fire suddenly come to life inside of them as he removes one of his hands from the wall only to then clench it up and drive it into the wall. The move is so sudden you have no time to react but the tears that are beginning to fill up in your eyes are a clear sign of how upset you are.

“That’s it. You’re coming with me.”

The sudden burst of rage that had erupted from him disappears as quickly as it appeared and he goes back to the calm demeanour he had held when he’d first walked into the room. You have no chance to object as his hand wraps itself around your wrist and a cloud of smoke envelops the two of you

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

The Captain and his men hadn’t found what they were looking for and as they returned to the ship it was clear by the numerous scowls among the men that they were not happy at having wasted an entire day on the island to come back to the ship empty-handed.

“I know it was a wasted trip today men but we’re not leaving here until we get what we came for. Get on with your tasks while I-“

He had only just stepped on board when he was met with the sight of the two crew members he had stationed outside his room unconscious on the deck of the ship. Not the scene he had been expecting to come back to at all. It didn’t matter how strong and fearless he needed to look in front of his men because the thought of you being taken was too much for even him.

“[y/n]…”

Muttering your name under his breath so that none of his crew members heard it for themselves he frantically raced down to where you should have been…where he thought you would be safe. He almost tumbled down the stairs to his quarters with the speed he was travelling at. He was met with the sight he was fearing though, the one that made his stomach knot uncomfortably. Nothing but an empty room.

In only a few seconds he was back up the stairs and kicking the still unconscious forms of the two men who were meant to be guarding you. His lips curling up into an angry animal-like snarl.

“Get up you bloody lazy gits! The rest of you can gather your weapons and make sure you are ready to fight. If Pan wants a war then that is what he will get.”

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

As the smoke disperses you see that your surroundings have completely changed. You are no longer on the ship that had made you feel safe and protected instead you are surrounded by dense vegetation, trees that tower so high you’re convinced they’re touching the sky. The male who had so rudely made his way onto Captain Hook’s ship is still too close to you for comfort so before saying anything you make sure the first thing you do is pull your wrist out of his grip and step as far away from him as you can while keeping him in your sight.

“I guess this is that ‘Neverland’ place that Captain Hook mentioned then.” You allow your eyes to give the clearing you are stood in a once over and then let a rather uninterested expression fall upon your face. “Can’t say it looks like anything spectacular.”

“Not what you were saying a few days ago [y/n]. In fact if I remember rightly you fell in love with this place the moment you stepped foot on it.”

He hadn’t liked the fact that you moved away from him but unlike his mood on the ship he didn’t show much negativity towards the gap you had put between them.

“If I was so happy when I was supposedly on this island then why was I found in the waters around it? Hmm? Clearly I wanted to try and get away from here.”

You are trying to get one over on him, make him slip up on these ridiculous fabrications he was coming up with, but his face drops at your more recent words. There was no anger, no annoyance, nothing of what you have already seen of his emotions. No this look was one that actually has you feeling bad for sounding so harsh. He seems almost…..sad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Didn’t what? Didn’t mean to upset him? The boy who had ripped you away from the only thing you knew, even if it had been for the briefest of times, without any kind of permission from you and you are worried you have upset him? Ridiculous. You shouldn’t even care. “I don’t even know your name. You know mine but I…..I don’t recall yours.”

“Peter. Peter Pan.”

Something about his name makes the smallest of smiles appear on your lips but before you can say anything else the bushes around you begin to rustle, the sound of twigs snapping seeming to sound out all around, and then……voices. Excited voices. 

[andrea-cristina-travel-blog]

Collecting moments on the island of Menorca, Spain

“London is a splendid place to live in for those who can get out of it.” — Lord Balfour of Burleigh, 1944 The thought first came on the Tube. The 18:09 Jubilee line from London Bridge to Stratford, to be exact. It began as a niggling feeling. The type you can’t quite identify yet but you know is there; like a crick in the neck after sleeping funny. I think it was somewhere between curtailing the need for air and stepping into the claustrophobia; yoga’ing into the last available pocket of air, between the balding businessman and the snarling teenager blasting death metal. Sometime before the daily prayer that the masses rocking side to side around me would buoy me, or after the ever-polite British voice reminded us all, again, to ‘mind the gap, please’. Hurtling beneath the streets of London in a grey tin can, it materialised between yet another long day at work and yet another long night of freelance work to come that evening. We were desperately in need of a holiday. It’s probably a strange thing to comprehend. Two people who make their living by living the non-stop travel dream, in need of a getaway. Yet there we were, having arrived in London 8 months before, straight from a hectic year of full-time travel and blogging, and launching straight into full-time work, full-time freelance, and full-time just trying to work out where the heck we were going in this chaotic new city of unfamiliarity. Combine this with constant travel for work, and you end up with us: two utterly exhausted, drained of enthusiasm, and generally flat humans. It’s probably why, when the opportunity to visit Menorca – Spain’s lesser-known, slower Balearic Island – presented itself, we didn’t even pause for thought. Google told us it was the ‘true home of slow’, full of idyllic Mediterranean beaches and long lunches, and two weeks later, we were hurtling out of London in another tin can. This time, watching the sun rise from pink skies en route to Mahon, ready to shift down a gear, recalibrate, and collect those small holiday moments that would help us find ourselves again. COLLECTING MOMENTS ON THE ISLAND OF MENORCA, SPAIN  the salt water cure. The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea. — Isak Dinesen 3… 2… 1… Deep breath. The sudden cool of the water sends tiny shocks along my skin, warm from a morning spent kayaking Menorca’s coastline under the sun’s gaze. Everyone always comes back from holiday exclaiming they ‘saw the bluest water, like, everrrrr’, but really, truly, they can’t have seen Menorca’s. It’s a blue that names like turquoise, azure, cerulean, can’t do justice. Gliding along the surface had been a test in patience, fighting the urge to ditch off the side into its inviting waters. So when we pull up inside the cave for a swimming stop, it takes all of two milliseconds to set aside the oars and dive straight in. It’s been a long time since we last felt the refreshing touch of salt water. For a second I seriously consider becoming a mermaid so I can live under here forever. After a youth spent swimming competitively, there’s always a sense of comfort in returning home to the water; surrendering to the ocean and just letting go. Under the rolling blue there’s nothing to focus on but your breath and thoughts; a natural meditation of sorts. Breaking through the surface to the sound of our friends whooping and splashing about, the happiness bubbles over. In this place of white cliffs and clear waves, there’s nothing to do but lie back and laugh to the bright blue skies as the stress dissolves away.   roll on under the sun.  “There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.” ― Jack Kerouac Windows down, the wheels roll on. There are five* of us today, piled into a rental car, on one of life’s great simple pleasures: a road trip with dear friends. We do have destinations in mind, Menorca’s medina-like port town of Ciutadella and the beach cove of Macarelleta, but today the freedom of the open road is just as much a part of the plan. I’ve always been fond of long car drives, and that delicious feeling of really going somewhere, both literally and metaphorically, that they invoke. Under a brilliant summer sky, we sing at the top of our lungs and wind along quiet country lanes fringed by long grasses and wildflowers. Menorca’s gentle landscape is peppered with ancient dry stone walls that criss cross fields of green, whitewashed stones farmhouses of times past, and wooded valleys that run towards white bays and sparkling seas. This is an island totally at ease with itself. Leisurely, beautifully natural, and content with having avoided the grasp of the modernising world. We’re a long way from the queues, skyscrapers, and blustery chaos of London. We make it to Ciutadella and wander the cobblestones, twisting and weaving down narrow lanes and getting distracted by market stalls. We stumble into a quaint café only to discover we’re actually in one of Menorca’s finest boutique hotels, and scramble up a flight of iron stairs to the best 360* view of Ciutadella we could imagine. We continue to Macarelleta and flop on our beach towels in the sun, feeling both totally relaxed and a little awkward due to a sudden encounter with the more relaxed European attitudes towards beach nudity. By the time we swing back into the carpark of our hotel as the stars have begun to twinkle overhead, we’re people refreshed, our troubles left behind in the lines of the road. *shout out to our favourite roadie buddies Girl vs Globe, Peter Parkorr, and Polkadot Passport!     breaking bread.  “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” – J.R.R. Tolkien Legend has it that centuries ago, an unknown man came from the sea. A shipwreck survivor, an escapee – no one knows. He took refuge in a cave, lifting supplies from nearby houses. From one house, a young woman already betrothed disappeared. Years passed with no sign of her return, until footprints left in an unexpected snow led armed men into the cave, to the couple and their three sons. Cornered, the man, Xoroi, leapt from the cave, returning to the sea, leaving the imposing cliffs to guard their love story forever. Today, Cova D’En Xoroi is one of Menorca’s glittering bars. I say glittering, because as the sun goes down over the cliffs to our right, the walls glow and champagne glasses flash with golden light as they clink. It’s from this magical viewpoint that we watch that vivid sunset in the company of our best friends, and contemplate the beauty and simplicity of nature. Meals of the freshest seafood and salty olives become some of our favourite moments on this island. Lunches are long, dinners a multi-course tapas-style affair. We have no choice but to slow down and savour life. To make each bite deliberate and intentional; to be fully present, instead of scarfing pizza down wordlessly in front of Netflix. More than that, each meal becomes a reminder to smile between mouthfuls, to belly laugh with friends over a heady mix of new tastes and local wine. To nourish our souls as we nourish our stomach. After all, nourishing souls is what Menorca does best.   Need to book accommodation? Here’s £30 off your first AirBnb booking Check out Hotel’s Combined for the best hotel deals Love Spain? You might like these posts: Why Menorca should be your next summer escape How to spend the ultimate weekend in Santander, Spain The best things to do in Santander, Spain FOLLOW OUR ADVENTURES ON FACEBOOK | INSTAGRAM | TWITTER | PINTEREST LIKE THIS POST? PIN AND SHARE IT! JOIN OUR TRIBE & WANDER WITH US Join 30,000+ people and receive travel stories, tips + hacks, and stunning photography to inspire your wanderlust. Straight to your inbox We hate spammers. We'll never be those people. We were hosted in Menorca Spain by Spain Tourism, Jet2.com, Visit Menorca, and Traverse as part of the #MustSeeMenorca campaign. A big thank you to the team for making our stay memorable. As always, all views are our own. Check out #MustSeeMenorca on Twitter or Instagram. The post Collecting moments on the island of Menorca, Spain appeared first on The Common Wanderer.

https://www.thecommonwanderer.com/collecting-moments-island-menorca-spain/

[gbongo-blog]

Unfinished short story for my children

Wanna collaborate on this first draft I'm writing for my daughters. I want it to be quite dark #Hamilton51 The Tales of The Dark Valley Part one: The Apprentice. 1 A slight breeze blew in from outside, causing the strange hollow tubes that hung just inside the window to make a pleasant chime that always made the villagers happy. This particular tune meant there was good weather to come. The lake was filled by the youngsters. They were swimming, fishing and skipping the special stones that lay there, which almost always made it to the very other side of the lake, if you did it properly of course. Almost all year round there could always be big, healthy fish to catch. Legend had it that an ancestor of the Master Wizard cast a strange spell over the Dark Valley thousands of years before their time which caused strange things to happen to the land. “I have a task for you Cain”, Jericho said just as the apprentice was about to sit down to do his daily reading. “You must collect for me a fire dragons eye, but it must be no older than 300 years, this is very important.” “But why Master, I must read these writings before the sun sets…” Jericho cut him off. “This is more important, the writings can wait for now, haven’t I taught you that patience is well rewarded?” He looked into Cain’s eye as he spoke. “Yes Master.” He stared back, Jericho still noticed that there seemed to be an unnatural shine in his apprentices’ eye, it made him uneasy sometimes but he never broke eye contact, always trying to know Cain’s thoughts before he did. He used to be able to easily do this, but as Cain got more powerful and wise, it was getting harder to do. He was convinced that his apprentice did not know this, yet. “And you know to never question me when I ask you to do something, after you do this, my young friend, you won’t have much need to ask why anyone does anything ever again.” Cain recognized the tone in his masters’ voice and he knew this would be something that could benefit him very well indeed, he couldn’t read his masters thoughts yet, but sometimes knew his intentions, and instinct told him they were very good indeed. “Can I eat before I set about my task master?” The hunger was almost unbearable; Cain knew he must feed soon. “Of course you can my son; the widow very kindly brought us some bread today.” Cain sighed as he reached for his cloak. He supposed he had waited longer, much longer between meals than he had today. Cain stood up and took a deep breath, preparing for the journey ahead. The sun would be setting soon and he much preferred the world at night. He swung his long black cloak over the shoulders of his slender body, the cloak looked raggedy, the bottom had once trailed the ground, but had been worn away over the years and there were now several holes in it, this cloak was special to him, and he believed it had protected him through some very rough times. He was dressed all in black, his tight clothes showing the muscular form of his body, almost like a second skin, with large steel spikes on the toecap of each black boot. His cloak draped over his shoulders then covered his head like a hood, making his face barely visible. He wore a large gauntlet on each hand. The Apprentice, by night looked like a very scary character indeed, so much so that the thought of meeting him after dark helped the children of the land to go to bed early. “Getting a fire dragons eye will not be easy master, it may take me some time.” The Master Wizard new the answer to the question before he asked it this time, Cain’s thoughts were very clear. “How are you going to go about this task apprentice?” Jericho said, without looking too amused. “I am going to find the finest dragon hunter in The Valley. I am going to seek out Stryker.” Cain turned to leave. “Goodbye Master.” The door swung shut behind him, and he was gone. 2 The Dark Valley was more than just a small community; it had grown into a Kingdom. It was ruled by a fairly even tempered king, who most of his people liked, he had brought good fortune and a way of living for his people, unlike some of the kings before him, who cared nothing for their people and were only interested in claiming taxes on farmers and suchlike. The centre of the kingdom was a city situated inside a massive valley between two enormous hills, which very few had ever climbed. But after that the land was gargantuan, with towns everywhere and fields of various fruits, vegetables and herbs. The land was so big that very few men had traveled outside its boundaries; there were many strange stories of what was actually outside their kingdom. Much of them started by Cain, the Apprentice wizard, who told the stories to the youngsters, who had then grown up and told their children, only slightly exaggerated, and so on and so on. Cain was just teasing them of course because he knew what was there, but he didn’t want them to know that. Nobody knows the true story of what happened 6000 years earlier in, what was now known as The Dark Valley. There are many versions of the legend, but most say the same thing… 3 Jericho was what some called a master of his arts, one of them being alchemy. He considered turning lead into gold and water into wine mere parlor tricks. Which were ones he done often, much to the amusement of the people, but not as nearly as it was amusing to him. Once Cain left, he set about making something he hadn’t made for thousands of years, one of his most valuable discoveries in alchemy. Black gold. Black gold was something which was considered an urban legend in most parts; some say they knew someone who had seen it, or someone who actually claimed to have seen it themselves. The legend goes that black gold is a gold that is seen as a black unprecious metal to the truly rich and shined gold to the truly poor; a bit ironic considering the rich would pay large sums of money to obtain some, if it actually existed. To Jericho, it was jet black, but shined gold in the light; it really was one of the most wondrous things to see. Especially if you created it. It was created for one purpose, at least by Jericho, who believed he was the only living man who could still create it. That purpose would only be fulfilled if Cain managed to carry out his task, which Jericho was sure he would do. In the now darkened room, Jericho was hooded looking into the pool in front of him, the substance boiling on the pot was thick and black in colour, it was struggling to boil because it was so thick, the bubbles were growing large and then bursting, spraying the shimmering substance back into the pot. ’Almost ready.’ Jericho thought to himself, he reached into his pocket, removed a small round object and held it in his hand. He went to the small window in his room and stared out; the clouds had begun to gather into the beginnings of a storm.. He closed his eyes and grasped the object in his hand. As he cleared his mind he let out a silent sigh that extinguished all the candles in the room, then, just like in a dream, he began to see. 4 “I request the presence of the King, I have no appointment but I’m sure he will see me.” Cain said at the same time thinking about how simple minded fools the Kings guards are. They always seemed to tremble when he was around, Cain knew this and it amused him. He though it was always good to be feared, it brought him more power. “Well, what are you waiting for boy, I don’t have all day.” He stared into the young boys eyes; he couldn’t have been older than twenty, though he looked much less mature. The boy was very sloppy for a guard of the King himself. The boy stammered as he replied. “What is your name sir?” He was desperately trying to look brave, Cain easily saw through his mask of bravado. “What is your name dear boy?” Cain liked answering a question with a question. All the time staring straight into the boys innocent blue eyes, trying to make them tell him something. “No no no, let me guess…” Cain closed his eyes and went quite for a moment, thinking about how tender the young mans throught looked; he loved putting on these little shows, always an entertainer. “You have the same name as the King my boy,” the soldier gasped, “Your name is Peter.” The boy was amazed. He had already given Cain all the information he needed. Another, older looking soldier stepped forward; he gave the younger boy a look that would kill a dragon. Peter knew he would be severely punished later. “Sorry Sir, I fully know who you are and indeed the King would see you immediately, if he was here, but unfortunately he’s away on a hunt.” Cain’s heart started to race. “Who is he on a hunt with? Who is his right hand man?” The sky started to darken; it would rain soon, very soon. “Why, Stryker of course.” The soldier replied, Cain stared into his eyes. “And you know Stryker.” “Yes, he is one of my closest friends; I would’ve been hunting beside him, but unfortunately, my duties lie here.” It hard started to rain a little now; the sky was a grey black colour. It would thunder soon. “Then I have an urgent message for you and only you to deliver personally to him, I want you to take your fastest horse and leave straight away.” “But sir, my duties lie here; I will surely lose my job, or worse if I abandon my post…” Cain cut him off, “Things will be fine here until you come back, I will make sure of this, and you will only be a few days. I will assure you once the King finds out I asked this favour of you, you will probably be praised, not punished.” The guard felt honoured to be asked to do this task, as his duties were usually so mundane. Cain knew the guard now understood. He reached into a pocket on his long, black trousers and pulled out a scroll, stamped with an intricate wax seal and handed it to the guard. “Ride through the night, you can take my horse and I guarantee you, you will be back in half the time” The guard took the scroll and put it into a pocket inside his robe. “I will not fail you Cain.” The guard said as the apprentice was turning to walk away. The sky let out a thunderous boom, the clouds were pitch black. A large bolt of lightning struck something far away. “And I will not fail you, if you serve me well.” He said over his shoulder as he walked away, his black cape flapping in the wind. 5 With his strong jaw and dead eyed gaze Cain Cross looks the part of a tough outlaw and trail rider. There is something dust covered and rumpled about him, even though he had the physical presence of a 35 year old man. Cain looks like he hasn’t slept indoors for a month. With a mysterious past and an uncertain future, Cain was somewhat of a common criminal with a twist, he was turning into a vampire. Drifting out west after a murderous run in with his slave owning father, Cain tried his hand at a new trade, robbing the rich men on the highways near Ordinia’s southern border. Cain’s lean and hungry one eyed face soon appeared on wanted posters across the frontier. After gaining much notoriety, his last big job went horribly wrong after Cain robbed an armored wagon which appeared out of the Dark Valley. Thinking there was gold in the wagon; Cain killed both horsemen and their horses before opening the metal chest inside. Unbeknown to him, the cargo was not gold. It was transporting Isaac, a vampire Lord of the Undead. Bitten by this ancient creature, and with his soul slipping into darkness, Cain vowed to master his powers and hunt down the vampire who sired him. Only by killing the Lord of the Undead can Cain hope to reclaim his soul and free the hundreds that he had bitten himself. An excellent trickster and a fine rider, Cain thinks on his feet and is as tough as nails, traits that are only enhanced by vampire powers that afford him superhuman strength, endurance and enhanced senses, in the form of the blood red orb that bloomed from his empty eye socket after the vampires curse surged through Cain’s veins. He had almost completely turned to the darkness and lost his way, when he met his saviour in Jericho, through circumstances in which they both wish had been better. It happened in the dark, most mysterious part of the land the people called Devils’ Belly. Where the trees seemed to whisper to you and it seemed like constant night time… 6 The Kings soldier was riding through the night on Cain’s jet black horse, Shadow, who never seemed to tire and already knew his way. The horse was riding so fast the wind was blowing the rain into the soldiers face, stinging his eyes and soaking his outer clothing. He was quickly approaching the Devil’s Belly and the confidence he had when he started out had soon faded and gradually turned to terror as he got closer. The stories he had heard were probably all untrue, but never the less he was afraid. Through the loud thunderstorm and the wind blowing in his ears, he thought he imagined hearing voices as he approached the forest ahead. The land he had been riding on had been mostly flat, like a desert, but the sand seemed more like dust, that was blown around by the wind, making vision very difficult. But still, Shadow kept going. He thought he heard the wind whisper, ‘Ethelred’ He was almost positive he could hear voices, ‘Vladimir’, again. He tried to ignore them but could not help trying to hear them. He put his head down and kept heading through the storm. He was getting close now. It was an almost barren piece of land, with a few dead trees dotted here and there. On a perfect night, when the moon shone brightly in the clear sky, it was a beautiful, almost peaceful place. But it was an equally dangerous place, with bandits seeming to strike out of nowhere. The soldier however had not encountered a single living thing since he left The Valley; he thought it was because the weather was so bad. He had no idea he was being watched from very far away. When he reached the forest, he noticed that the barren wasteland looked like it had been stopped by the trees, then the forest seemed to engulf him, his heart started racing and he could feel the pain in his bones caused by hours of constant riding. ‘At least the rain isn’t so bad here’ the soldier said to himself, just noticing it would be completely silent if it wasn’t for the horses’ hooves beating on the ground. He looked up and noticed he could no longer see the sky, for the trees seemed to bend and the branches intermingled, a feeling of claustrophobia set over the soldier. He closed his eyes and hoped the feeling would go away, he had noticed some time ago that there was no need to guide the horse; it was galloping as if it had a purpose. He began to feel almost peaceful and began thinking of what he would do when he got back to his family. All of a sudden the horse stopped dead in his tracks, throwing the soldier off, he went flying through the air before landing on his back, he heard a large snap like a branch breaking, and then realized it was his leg as the pain surged through his body before he passed out. Far far away, in his room, Jericho’s eyes flicked open and he took a large gasp. ‘A strayer!’ He closed his eyes again, knowing there would be nothing there but the back of his eyelids. ‘It couldn’t possibly be?’ He said to himself before quickly heading out into the stormy night. Leaving the concoction on his stove to simmer slowly until he returned. 7 Stryker and his band of warriors, the regulators, which could be described as a small army, had just got back to the stronghold. All were buzzing with delight and adrenaline at their latest victory, alongside the King himself no less. There was singing and rejoicing all around him, the air was electric. Despite the difficulties the storm had brought and losing around 150 of his men, some of which had been in the ranks of the regulators for years, it had been worth it for such a glorious victory and honour. Stryker’s body was weary from the lengthy fight, which had lasted 2 days, but he was in no way ready for turning in for the night, there was celebrating to do, and he couldn’t wait to sit by the kings right hand. The anticipation of the large banquet and party ahead of him was almost as good as that miniscule moment he had before he struck the killer blow, bringing the dragon down and extinguishing its flame for ever. Stryker was born into a family of dragon hunters, his grandfather, his father and his brother, had all been dragon hunters when he was young. One day, his father and brother went on a hunt to kill a mighty fire dragon, along with around only 100 men. The battle was fierce and the dragon escaped, after causing many fatalities. It was a tragedy. However they didn’t know that that particular dragon was a strayer. A cast out, who had once been human and turned into a dragon before being banished for their sins. Strayers didn’t think or act like normal dragons, they had all their former memories and remembered all their most hated enemies. Stryker had heard that only four existed, and his father had come close to killing one of them. He had made it his lifelong quest to find all four, forming his small army slowly but gradually and training them up with his admirable hunting skills. By the time he was finished with them, they were warriors in their own right. Stryker’s’ clothes were wartorn and his skin had many scratches and bruises from the battle, his normally bright blonde hair was brown and dirty with mud, but he still had a glint in his sparkling blue eyes. 32 years old and looked like he should be royalty. Although he was from a poor family, he had worked up so much respect that many now thought him a considerable power in the kingdom, with many friends and contacts. Instead of people looking down on him all his life, he was proud to have worked himself up to a level where he was so respected. He looked at the faces of some of his regulators; they were either high on adrenaline or drunk with victory. The storm still blew strong, and they were all glad to get back to warm shelter. They were all looking forward to the banquet ahead; Stryker knew his father would be proud. 8 Jericho had taught Cain how to suppress his hunger, until he found a way of curing him. But it had started to take over. Nobody knew about Cain’s condition, except Jericho. Cain had learned much from his masters’ teachings, and gained much knowledge by reading the writings Jericho had given him. Jericho claimed these had been passed down through the centuries, growing larger over the years as his ancestors became more enlightened. But Cain’s hunger was slowly taking over. Controlling his mind, manipulating it into thinking things he knew were wrong. Sometimes he couldn’t help thinking how it would feel so natural. He hated how sometimes when talking to someone, his thoughts would wander and his eye would often drift to their uncovered neck, and he would imagine. Imagine how good it would feel to feed and be strong again, stronger than Jericho could ever dream. Cain could almost feel his soul slipping away with his conscience. He had to concentrate harder and harder to stop these thoughts. There were times when it got too much, so much so he would cut his arm with a blade to wake his mind up, but this was getting less effective everytime he done it. At times the pain was nothing compared to his hunger.