inspired by the fear of being ordinary

[fortheamericandream]

Not many strangers came knocking on their door, but Steve assumed that people who meant them harm didn’t usually pause to be polite either. The youthful face that stared up at him was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on until he registered the specific glasses the girl was wearing. Not that it meant anything – there were always copies around, from people trying to emulate Stark’s particular style.

And then she started speaking, rapid-fire words that sounded absurd – if one didn’t count their line of business. Steve frowned, half-disbelieving, half-shocked, but overall definitely not amused at having to deal with this.

“You sure talk like a Stark,” he observed, looking back over his shoulder. She had accurately pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and for that alone he stepped aside to let her in. “And if you know us, you’re also aware that Bucky doesn’t really hesitate behind the trigger, so go ahead. The risk if you try anything funny is all yours.”

@goddamnhowling

[goddamnhowling]

It wasn’t often that they had visitors. Bucky’s ears had pricked but he’d ostensibly stayed by the stove and working on dinner, his human hand resting over the chef’s knife he’d been using earlier. Old habits died hard and all that.

He actually turned at the sound of rapid-fire chatter and footsteps moving in on their home, blinking at the sight of Steve letting an unfamiliar girl inside. For the love of Christ, Stevie, he almost snapped. He did snap, actually, once the door to the bathroom had clicked shut. “Are you going to invite her to crawl into bed with us and ask for a bedtime story, too?” he asked sarcastically, turning back to the stove and flipping the steaks he’d been working on over.

After a moment of consideration, he sighed and moved to the fridge to grab another slice of meat. The kid had said she was hungry, after all, and he was going to follow Steve’s lead—even if Steve was an idiot. But he also knew that he probably didn’t have any room for opinions when it came to Starks, so.

@ironcuriosity @fortheamericandream

[ironcuriosity]

"Oh thank God --" Morgan scurried right on in once she was given the okay, directly in the direction of that bathroom. "Yeah, yeah, know all about the itchy trigger finger. Not looking to go back to my time with any holes in me that weren't there when I left. No funny business, got it." But this whole thing was funny business, there was no question about it. There would never not be anything funny about time travel and Morgan hadn't really even gotten to that part yet. "-- So yeah, back to the important question. What year is it?" Morgan had made a beeline to the kitchen, half on instinct and half just for the fact that she was fuckin' starving, trigger-happy-Winter-Soldier be damned. "I'm assuming...." she clucked her tongue, looking around the cabin. Hard to tell based on context clues, considering they were both old as shit and didn't age. "...Well, I'm assuming it's after 2019 since you didn't look at me like I was apeshit insane when I said Morgan Stark, which means Morgan Stark is alive. Also kind of assuming that maybe, maybe, this is...post-reverse-snap since the implication of time travel didn't send you off the rails, either. So, mid 2020s. Am I right? Did I get it? Did my detective skills win today?"

[cosmicalwizardry]

@ironcuriosity

Alright, he had managed to make the most difficult part work – now he only had to deal with everything else. Clothes changed from his Court Wizard attire to an inconspicuous blue dress shirt and dark jeans – the regular fit, not skinny as he would have preferred – was the first rule to follow. The Magistrate was already working in these streets and if Billy knew anything about them it was that they prized for tradition – and he was anything but.

The second step was to get some coffee – which really said something about how homesick he was, that he was willing to drink whatever sludge they were serving at the nearest café, paid with magically crafted money. Oh well, he’d arrange for something more fitting later. He sat by the window and watched the people pass, planning his next move, when a familiar face outside startled him. He jumped from his seat, rushing out with his cup in hand.

“Morgan? Is that you? Really you?”

[ironcuriosity]

The consequences of her own actions: Morgan had been...woefully under-prepared to launch herself back twenty years, and that was becoming more and more clear as each day came with new problems. Maybe she should've packed a bag with supplies, but she hadn't thought that far ahead. Foiled by her own lack of preparation, which was....well, pretty usual for her. Double foiled by the fact that the technology she'd used to get herself here was not invented yet, and she needed to make some repairs to get herself home. Today's dilemma: the need for Starbucks, but realizing that her credit card is from twenty years in the future and Morgan Stark was currently six. Damnit. Morgan was frowning to herself when she heard her name, and all at once that frown turned right the fuck upside down and she was bouncing towards the familiar face. "Holy crap. Holy crap, you're here, you did it too. How did you do it? Also, please tell me you have money for coffee."

[ironcuriosity]

@fortheamericandream @goddamnhowling

She wasn’t really exactly sure of what the plan had been, but Morgan was being forced to face the fact that whatever it was, it had…definitely been lacking. She would never admit aloud that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t really expected her experiments to go much of anywhere, much less twenty years in the past. Maybe. Because if she’d expected this time to be the one after so many failed attempts and explosions and setbacks (and, well, injuries), then maybe she would’ve had the steps in place for what came next and more than $60 in her pocket. But she had none of that. Ah, the consequences of her own actions. What a bitch. But, Morgan was adaptable, and had a plan in motion. Well, part of a plan. Kind of a plan. She’d always done her best work when put on the spot, and this would be no exception, even if she was feeling …thrown, to say the least. Thrown and quietly ecstatic because she’d done it, she’d managed to land herself somewhere that wasn’t ten feet off the ground on fire in her dad’s old workshop. Where that was…well, she was getting there. Good question. She was working on that. Had to focus on the positives: no zombies, which was good. Very good, for a wide assortment of reasons. What year prior to the Anti-Life-Equation takeover…well, that was a good question. Context clues would support…2020s? She could work with that. Better than 1912, or some other bullshit. Hopefully not 2019, because that would offer a whole other shitbox of complications. Anything after 2019. 2020s meant she could enlist help, even if that would be complicated. But complicated had never stopped her. She’d managed time travel, for fuck’s sake! She could manage this. The cabin was familiar, if years newer, and Morgan didn’t hesitate even a beat before rapping her knuckles on the weirdly-familiar-yet-not wooden door with an overbright (and well, still damn-proud-of-herself) smile and her father’s glasses sliding down her nose - nanobots, her Iron Man suit kept well within reach - undeniable soot smeared across one of her cheeks. She didn’t hesitate in the wave when the door was finally answered, and plowed on without much preamble: “Hey so, this is really complicated and is definitely going to take a lot of explanation and I will get to that, but I am starving and I really really need to pee so we’re going for the condensed version. Hey, it’s Morgan. Morgan Stark Morgan. Not…not the one you know. Well, yes the one you know, but like…twenty-something years in the future? What year is it, exactly?” She shook her head once, grimacing a little. Right. Condensed. “Anyway, yeah. Definitely Morgan, how’s it going, can I use your bathroom? Which is…right there,” she pointed down the hall, into the house, “if I remember correctly?”

[ironcuriosity]